


Parallel Lines

by carnivorousBelvedere



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Clark Kent Syndrome, Criminal AU, Dirk and Dave get dicks in their mouth no matter what, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Orgasm, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, M/M, Predator/Prey, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14997890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnivorousBelvedere/pseuds/carnivorousBelvedere
Summary: FBI Agents Jake English and Karkat Vantas are just trying to arrest criminals and live their lives.Jake wants to go home to his boyfriend at the end of the day. Karkat wants his peace and quiet.Too bad the Strider thief duo they just can't seem to catch has been giving them a hard time.





	1. A Saturday

"This doesn't make any sense. If this was a Strider job, they would have wiped these tapes.” 

FBI agent Jake English bites his knuckle, hand fisted in front of his face as he stares at the arrangement of photos taken from security footage on the wall. “I got nothing. I got no dang clue. How is it possible that besides this, they leave absolutely nothing?” He wants to call it flawless. 

It makes him furious. 

"They're taunting us," Karkat says. “They wanted us to see this.” 

Jake nods. "They're taunting us." They hadn’t been tipped about this job. The footage was left so that they would know who did it, a calling card of sorts. He lets out a long sigh. "If we get hornswoggled Saturday, we're done. We’ll be the laughingstocks of the FBI, and then Interpol too. I can’t let him get away again.” 

He meant them. He meant them. 

It’s hard to remember there’s two, not when he’s so damn set on snagging one half of the duo. The one that absolutely has it out for him; the one that torments him with every time he slips through Jake's fingers. The one with the goddamn _pointy mask_. 

Jake remembers the first time like it was yesterday. He was knocked off the docks by a tripwire and ended up in the frigid ocean. He remembers surfacing to see Strider standing on the docks, looking down at him. 

Or the bank job, where Strider used the bank’s own magnetic vault to keep him held to the giant metal door with handcuffs while they robbed the bank in front of their eyes. 

And then there was that one museum case, where Strider waved at the camera when Jake realized they’d used pre-recorded tapes.

Then there were three separate cases of overridden AI… the list went on. 

The Striders took their jobs off the darknet, making it possible for them to track which case was coming next. As a result, the duo planned their heists so it was always in front of eyes, and generally left no trace besides what Jake could remember. Risky and flawless. However, maybe it was just Jake being hopeful, but he felt he’d been getting closer and closer each time. 

"No no no. If our intel is good, and it is, if they so much as sneeze on that property we'll know about it," Karkat affirms. He comes over and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Jake. There’s nothing more we can do here today.” Karkat is being the voice of reason for once, since Jake can’t get his blood to simmer down every time someone as much as breathes the word ‘Strider’ around him. 

Jake looks at him and back at the wall. He’s right. If he doesn’t leave the station he’ll just burn his wheels out harder and be tired by Saturday, when he needs to be on the top of his game.

Plus if he gets home now he’ll probably find his sweet boyfriend snuggled up in blankets, working away without him. 

“Is everything settled with the LeMausier estate?” he asks. 

“Trust me, Jake. This plan is ironclad. I’ve gone over it a million times. This is going to be the one.” It’s true, Karkat has barely slept for hatching this plan since they got word of the mark on the famed Markus LeMausier home, housing several Vermeer works of unquantifiable value, on the night of their annual foundation fundraiser. 

“We’ll be popping Chandon in the morn with that attitude,” Jake effuses. He grabs his jacket, nods to Karkat, and makes his way out, settling to put his rabid thoughts over the triangle-masked man out of his mind. 

-

“Hello, Professor Lalonde!” he calls out into the hallway as he pushes open the door to his home. 

“Oh, come on, you know I don’t like that,” Dirk responds from the living room, chuckling.  
Just as Jake suspected, Dirk is lounging on the couch in a pile of papers he has yet to grade. He’s wearing a khaki sweater and his socks are sticking out from under the blanket he’s wrapped in. 

“How were your ornery pupils today?” Jake asks sunnily and swoops down to kiss Dirk. Dirk grins at him as he pulls away. 

“We had a wonderful discussion on Descartes. You would have loved it. Riveting.” 

“Of course it’s riveting with you at the front of the room,” Jake winks and throws his jacket over his shoulder, making his way back to the bedroom to change. Dirk knows better by now than to ask about Jake’s job, lest he wind up in a half hour long rant about the genetic tracking of infamous thief duos. 

“How ‘bout you and I brew some tea and settle in for a film?” Jake yells out to him as he slips out of his work clothes. 

“I don’t think I have time for a movie,” Dirk calls back. “I have to go to Dave’s later.”

“Oh? I didn’t recall you mentioning you had plans with him,” Jake replies.

“Must have slipped my mind.” 

Jake makes his way back out to the living room and plops down next to Dirk. “Well I suppose we’ll have to make this time count then, won’t we?” 

Dirk smiles at him and Jake melts a little bit. He pushes himself up and discards the paper he was grading, shoving the pile away from him. 

“What were you thinking?”

\----

By the evening of the LeMausier event, Karkat is a wreck. 

“How many shots of espresso did it take to get your pants in a waddle?” Jake asks him. 

“Five? Actually six. The last one was a double.” He bounces. He’d already nearly knocked over an ice display. 

Waiters come by with hors d'oeuvres and nearly overflowing gold-rimmed glasses of champagne. Jake starts to reach out for a flute but Karkat shoots him a look and Jake withdraws his hand, instead going for the smoked salmon pincho-style. Everyone has their vice. 

Someone buzzes him on his earpiece. "All secure up here, we got your eyes all over the east wing as promised." 

"If you spot as much as a blasted squirrel send it here,” Jake responds with the touch of a button. 

Jake took much more time putting together this outfit than he would like to admit. But since he knew, knew to his very core, that he’d be walking out with at least one of the Striders in handcuffs tonight, he sure as shit dressed to the nines. 

Karkat had even side-eyed him when he walked in, causing Jake to puff out his chest a little bit. 

“Stop doing that,” Karkat mutters at him aside a cocktail table.

“Doing what?”

“Your whole peacocking thing. It’s unsettling. You couldn’t be screaming any louder.”

“I’m not–”

“Your pocket square doesn’t match your tie.”

Jake looks down at his chest and back up to a grinning Karkat. 

He’d purposely planned this outfit around a matching tie and pocket square. He huffs and wipes his face with the napkin the staff had handed him with his food. “Rude.” Jake finishes the salmon and sets it down on the table, brushing his hands together. “Don’t you have a corner to squat in?” 

Karkat snorts in response. 

They both nod at a swanky couple that drifts past them. Jake looks behind him, surveying the room. Two men, one posted at each end, overlook the swath of sequined, plumed bodies between them. They have cameras everywhere. Eyes on the outside. Foolproof.

And a huge waste of resources if this goes south. 

Why did this guy have such a ridiculously huge house? How did this guy keep his house secure at all? On the brightside, he and Karkat are getting treated to a night of high-profile shenanigans in a decadent ballroom full of rich assholes. 

“Gonna take a lookie-loo of the auction,” he says to Karkat who just nods at him, one elbow on the table as he continues to people watch. 

Jake, still uncomfortable in the sea of people, swipes a glass of bubbly liquid off a tray. It’s a small lifeline on a night that could make or break the rest of his career. A giant gilded chandelier hangs over the ballroom and he takes a moment to admire it. Massive windows in the ceiling showcase the moon overhead. 

He takes a sip and steps around the auction offerings. A weekend in Napa, a liveaboard snorkel trip in Bermuda… how does anyone afford this? 

He shuffles around a woman signing her name under something, purposefully avoiding the amount of zeros she’s writing down. 

He continues to ignore the people around him and makes a small goal to try food from every tray that passes by him. 

That’s when it hits. 

Ear-splitting static bursts out of his headpiece. 

There’s sudden intense clamoring as the lights cut out. He tears his earpiece out to the sounds of glass shattering. 

The lights don’t come back on. He throws his gaze over to Karkat, who is already crouched and ready to go. He sprints to close the distance between them in the low lighting. 

“They used an EMP!” Karkat snaps at him. “Where the _fuck_ did they get one of those?” 

They’re in the dark now, in more ways than one. 

“East wing?” Karkat asks him.

“East wing.” Jake confirms. They take off up the stairs, leaving the crowd behind them. 

“Foolproof! You said foolproof!” Jake seethes as they run their destination. The East Wing contained both the library and gallery according to the floor plans they’d studied before that night.

“I! Didn’t know! They would have! A motherfucking! Bomb!”

The jaunt across the estate to the gallery has them huffing by the time they get to the edge of the corridor. 

“Which floor is it on?” Jake wheezes as Karkat tries to buzz his link for backup. It’s still no good, everything is shot from the bomb. 

“They’re on all three floors you idiot, it’s his personal fucking gallery!” Karkat hisses back at him rightly. “We have to split up. Oh my god we are so boned.” 

“Just go to the goshdarn first floor!” Jake pushes him in the direction of the stairs and takes off down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was vaguely inspired by [Say Amen (Saturday Night) by Panic at the Disco](https://youtu.be/jVXauWq9Hwg?t=1m32s). 
> 
> Also live-jammed for the Strilondes server. Thank you to notwest for the edits <3


	2. Wrong

Karkat whips around the wooden staircase to the first floor. When he breaches the hallway it's all silence and darkness down there, and he’s mentally cursing the advent of electricity. 

He manages to still himself enough to withdraw this handgun and stick himself to the wall.  
God, it’s not like Strider, whichever one it is, doesn’t already know he’s there with the graceful entrance he made. He makes his way down the hallway, hairs prickling up his neck, one quiet foot in front of the other. 

Suddenly he’s disoriented because this part feels more like a library than a gallery. The walls are tall, shelved, and filled with books. He’s not on the right floor, this is definitely not where the Vermeers are located. 

It’s dead silent, he swears he could hear a pin drop. If he keeps going he’ll be at the window overlooking the garden and the fucking hedge maze, where backup and cameras should be waiting. 

_Whomp._

The air goes out of him and he finds himself face down on tile flooring. Ow. 

“Haha. Gotcha,” says a muffled voice on top of him.

Shit.

The masked man above him doesn’t hesitate, he sweeps down and pads around Karkat’s belt. Karkat struggles to push up under him and knock the man off his back. He’s found what he's looking for, because suddenly Karkat is wearing his very own handcuffs. He can feel the bruise that will undeniably make itself known on his cheek from its friendly meeting with the floor. 

The man yanks him up off the floor by the handcuffs and Karkat follows through, lunging from his knees. Karkat moves to elbow the man but he’s faster, ramming him into a wall between a section of books. Well, there goes the other cheek. 

“Can you be good, Mr. Agent Sir?” the masked man says hotly behind him. 

Karkat strains his neck to look back at him. He can’t tell which one it is, but he knows without a doubt it’s one of the Striders. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Can you be good, _Karkat_?” 

He grits his teeth at the implication that they’re on some kind of first-name basis now. Well, he’s been one of two officers solely assigned to tracking him down for months now but it doesn’t exactly make them friends.  
Karkat growls and shoves back against him. It doesn’t do much to deter him. He’s in his full body woven suit, complete with dark lenses covering his eyes. His chest and shoulders have some kind of thin but sturdy armor lining them. His gloved hands don’t feel terrible where he’s touching Karkat around his wrists. 

Strider yanks Karkat back so he stumbles and pulls him through an adjacent doorway. It looks like a study, and it’s kind of musty. The man half drags him over and throws him into a wooden chair. He’s no pushover. Karkat suddenly feels compelled to spend the next week in the gym. 

Karkat starts to sit up but something clicks behind him and his yanks against the chair become futile. Urgh, if he tries any harder he’s gonna pull his shoulder out of its socket. 

Strider seems satisfied for the moment.

He goes to sit on the desk in the study, shoving aside whatever was on it with his ass. A dead lamp clatters to the floor and the sound echoes through the empty hallway. There’s nobody else here, save for Jake upstairs, who is hopefully not in a similar predicament. 

The masked Strider doesn’t move, he just stares down at Karkat in the barely visible lighting with those eerie lenses laid into his mask. 

“Can I fucking help you?” Karkat spits at him.

Karkat can make out his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths. “Nah,” he replies, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. 

“Talk much more and I could pick you out in a lineup,” Karkat snarls. 

“Talk much more and I could pick you out in a lineup,” Strider replies in an exact imitation of Karkat's voice. 

“What the fuck?” 

“What the fuck?” he mirrors Karkat again. 

Karkat’s earpiece buzzes to life around his neck. The Strider lunges forward and rips it off. 

He listens, and then speaks. 

“Negative, negative, hold down for now we got the situation under control boys,” he says, with Karkat’s exact husky tone and inflection.

He throws down the comm and steps on it. 

“How the fuck did you do that?” 

The man laughs quietly. “Practice makes perfect, bro.” 

He’s just… standing there. Karkat wishes he would do something. 

“So which Strider are you?” Karkat says, unable to handle this bizarre silence. 

“The one that thinks you’re cute,” he replies without skipping a beat. 

Karkat bristles. “What the literal fuck?” 

He doesn’t reply, leaving Karkat to continue seething in his chair. It’s still very dark, Karkat can really only barely make out his outline in the dark. He’s got shoulders like cannonballs. Up close it’s easier to see just how outmatched he is next to the criminal. More reminders of past failures, including this one. 

He weirdly looks like he’s staring off into space. Karkat realizes that he must have some kind of computer technology in his lenses. 

He nods, a subtle movement from afar. Then the lights flicker on and Karkat finally can see the round lenses, confirming which Strider it is. Of course it’s this one again. Last time Karkat got as close to this Strider they were stealing a painting. Karkat chased him around the museum and it ended with him spray painting ‘Vantass’ with a heart and a giant penis on the marble wall. 

Karkat is starting to wonder just how much of that flirty banter he’d been hearing in whispers and taunts from this Strider over the last months had been jokes. 

He looks too relaxed, with one ankle thrown up on his knee from the desk. The lights cut out again. What the hell is going on?

“By all means you don’t have to stay here and play babysitter. Don’t let your partner take all the glory for this, you’ve already humiliated Interpol enough times.” 

Strider slips off the table and takes two long steps toward Karkat. 

“Take a chill pill, man.” 

Karkat shudders as he feels gloved hands carding through his hair and his breath catches. 

It takes him several long seconds to fight for words. “So–o those lenses,” Karkat says, surprised at his sudden inability to speak. “You talk to him through those?”

“Something like that,” the man breathes from behind him. He still hasn’t stopped touching him. “I can’t lie, Agent Vantas. I’ve waited a long time for a moment like this.” It doesn’t sound like he’s gloating, though he very well could be. His voice is coated with something else, something dense Karkat can’t pinpoint. 

Karkat strains against the chair. The air is way too thick. 

“If you know my name it’s only fair that I know yours,” Karkat tries to pull away from him, or even leverage a kick but the angle is no good. 

He tsks. “Strider works just fine.”

“That’s your partners name.”

The hand leaves him. “As far as you know.” 

It’s just so dark, Karkat can’t fucking see what he’s doing. He does hear the movement of fabric and his leg jerks as he abruptly feels thin rope sliding down the calf of his pant leg. Oh hell no. Arms? Fine. Legs? No fucking way. 

Strider moves fast and the rope knots down, sealing one calf to the chair leg. Karkat tries to swing his other leg out, thrusting his hip, but a steady hand catches him right below the knee. Moments later, that leg joins the other in being tied to the chair. 

“Listen asshole. You made your point. You got me. Please, please, fucking leave and get this night over with.” Karkat can’t deal with this. He can feel his skin burning, utterly humiliated. 

“Alright, I’ll let you in a little trade secret,” Strider murmurs. It seems that he’s still squatted down on the floor, Karkat can feel the ghost of his presence only inches away. “My infra reads light up in a very particular way around you.”

“What could you possibly be fucking talking about.” 

His chuckling response speaks volumes. It’s deep and gravely, something beckoning. There’s a tapping sound. “I can’t lie, you’re my favorite to look at through these.” 

A hand comes and presses itself to Karkat’s shoulder, and painstakingly runs its way down to Karkat’s abdomen. Now moving the opposite way, Karkat throws his spine against the chair. 

Everything just took a turn from _Fuck No_ to _Absolutely Fucking No_.

“What the? Is this a game to you?” Karkat snaps, his innards writhing like a pile of snakes. This is absolutely not something that can be happening-- if this is going where he thinks it’s going. 

Strider is nonplussed as his hand gently squeezes Karkat’s abdomen. “I knew there were abs hiding in there somewhere.”

“Ohmygod,” Karkat shudders out. “Whatisyourproblem?”

“It’s cute how you’re fussing when your body is screaming otherwise.” He sounds so heated and assured. Whatever his lenses are telling him is making Karkat feel exposed. His palm hasn’t moved from its precarious perch on his stomach. “Oh, what's that saying? The lady doth protest too much?” 

Either Karkat’s hands are losing circulation in the handcuffs or blood is rushing elsewhere. Or both, but he does not want to consider either possibility. 

Strider is still talking. “Just hearing you before, constantly hashing my build, my weight, my history, what I’m capable of,” he says. “And then being this close to you now… hm. Like you were as hungry to be around me as I was for you.”

“You’re delusional,” Karkat spits at him. It’s not entirely true. The fear intermixed with some sickening arousal is making itself rather known now. The blurry photos they’ve managed to get of them in the act he’s studied for hours. They’re up there in his head with the mental pictures Karkat has taken when he’s seen him in person. But it was always some kind of unfortunate admiration, a wonder of who he was and how he always managed to get away with it-- not anything else. Absolutely not.

Strider’s hand dips down to hover over the zippered portion of his pants. “Are you sure? It’s funny, I find myself in this bit of a situation where I know what you like, how to push all your buttons.”

“You– you say that like we’ve met,” Karkat manages to respond. He wishes he could turn off his autonomic nervous system, which is exerting itself quite strongly in ways he would rather have it not do. Surely his ‘terrified’ nerves are crossing with his ‘turned on’ nerves and sending the wrong messages to his brain and lower body. Right? 

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Man, I really wish I could tell you my name.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

“So I can hear you say it,” Strider replies and presses his hand down on his groin. Karkat gasps and lurches his chest forward, trying to shove his hips back and away. His body is really, truly betraying him now as blood rushes to his crotch.

“Dude, am I lucky. Next to the definition of snack in the dictionary there’s a picture of you. How am I supposed to keep my hands off of you when you look like this?” 

“I’m getting a really good idea of what you sound like,” Karkat mutters. Anything to distract from the tendrils of shame or whatever it is he’s feeling. His skin prickles hotly. 

“That’s not the only thing you’re getting right now. Somehow, I’m okay with it.” 

There’s a soft noise. It seems that bodysuited man has come to rest on his knees in front of Karkat. His hand has released the pressure some. But no, he’s not stopping.

Slow, dangerous fingers are slowly undoing his belt now. 

Karkat’s breathing has become undeniably erratic, a stark difference to the calm of the brick shithouse that is absolutely about to cut his dick off, or something like that. 

He hears the unmistakable sound of his zipper being pulled down and scrambles for words, anything. “Dude what the fuck are you doing? This– this is wrong.” He never thought Strider would be capable of something like this, violating him-- or whatever he’s intending to do, he has to be jumping to conclusions. 

He actually barks a laugh at that. “Don’t tell me you haven’t admired me before.”

“So on top of being psychotic you’re also a narcissist, got it.” His voice shakes despite himself.

“No, Agent. You can’t just look at me that way,” Strider says, fingers digging into where his pants are, and undergarments, and Karkat has stopped breathing, “And not expect me to do something about it.” Karkat barely has a second to assess his statement, or to process that Strider has noticed he’d checked him out, because in a harsh motion he yanks it all down, leaving Karkat inarguably exposed. 

A clothed hand wraps around him and he shivers. Karkat knows he’s _at least_ sporting some kind of half mast right now. The hand gives two steady pumps and he makes a strangled sound, the mesh cloth chafing against sensitive skin. 

He halts his movements to grip him, hard. “You haven’t said to stop.”

The only response Karkat can make is a pathetic, shocked gurgle. 

“Hah. That’s what I thought.”

Karkat burns with shame but has enough wits about him enough to realize that Strider’s voice is clear now, there’s no sound of cloth modulating his words anymore. 

He can see the lenses, his eyes thankfully more adjusted to the dark, but now he also can see the distinct outline of an unmasked jaw.

Topped off by one giant, shit eating grin. 

The hand is back to pumping him, slowly now. Karkat writhes in the chair and releases a groan. 

“Oh, what was that? Too dry?” Strider taunts him and leans forward on his knees. 

This is a game now. “Fuck you,” Karkat breathes out. 

“Gladly. I’m going to make you purr, Karkitty,” is all he says before a warm mouth takes him. 

Karkat throws his head back and moans. He is absolutely getting harder in Strider’s mouth, especially as he starts to work and really slick him up. A sharp thrill jolts through him. This situation is absurd, it shouldn’t be happening, is this even happening? This criminal is getting off to sucking an international agent. 

Fuck, those lips feel so good around him. As if Strider hears his thoughts, they tighten. The sensation is outrageous. If he keeps it up like this, he’s– 

Oh, no. Absolutely not. 

He is not going to let Strider make him come. 

He’s gasping for air now, struggling against his restraints. Strider pulls away to lick a wet stripe up the back of his cock and Karkat swears he hears him hum a contented sigh. 

“You’re… depraved,” Karkat gasps out. “This is so fucked up.” Oh, it’s so good. 

“And you’re loving this,” Strider replies. “Fuck, I have wanted to do this for so long.” He goes back down, swirling around the top and licking over the slit, making Karkat curse weakly. 

He’s got a tight grip on his thighs and Karkat feels that familiar warmth starting to grow inside. No no no. He’s not gonna let this happen. He jerks his hips forward in defiance but it only serves to make Strider more enthusiastic as he works away. 

And boy is he enthusiastic. 

Karkat jerks his hips again and those hands on his thighs grind down, Strider's pace speeding up then settling into a steady bobbing that’s stoking fire. He squeezes his eyes shut, determined to ignore the blissful burn that’s being forced to spark. 

Strider thankfully separates again. Karkat can feel a thin line of spit linking them as he pulls away and he wallows in the rush it gives him. “Enjoying yourself?” He puts an elbow on Karkat’s knee and rests his chin on his hand. 

Karkat groans huskily and manages to respond through panting breaths. “Whatever you came for, you’re not going to get it.”

“Is that a challenge?” That goddamn grin again. “I accept.”

“When this is over I will make it my life’s mission to find you and tear you limb from fucking limb,” Karkat growls. 

“I look forward to it.” He sinks down once more, tightness and hot breath and determined tongue all over again.

Karkat whimpers weakly as he powers on. He’s so steady and wet and hot and tight and _perfect_ and oh god, _oh no_.

“I’m…. not...” he gasps out and he swears he hears him laughing into his dick. 

There’s no end in sight. Strider is bringing him to a relentless fever high. It could have been seconds or minutes, he doesn’t know how long he manages to hold on. 

“Oh fuck,” tumbles out of his mouth, the only sign he gives of his impending orgasm. He expects Strider to stop and pull away, ruining his clothes and augmenting his already immense humiliation. But he doesn’t. 

Karkat tries to stem his cry as he shudders. Glorious, euphoric waves ram through him and he grits his teeth against it. _I don't want this I don't want this I don’t want this._ It's futile. Strider doesn’t stop as Karkat comes in his mouth. 

He swallows and wrangles another bewildered gasp out of Karkat. Then he doesn’t stop, forcing Karkat to ride it out until overstimulation as he cries out softly. It’s just too much. Only then does Strider sink away. The agent slouches forward, drained. 

The unthinkable happens. Strider grabs the sides of Karkat’s face and pulls him into a rapid, beaming kiss. 

Karkat can taste himself on his lips. 

He finally leans back on to his haunches and uses the momentum to stand up. “Seems like somebody enjoyed themself.”

“I am going to kill you.” Karkat can’t lift his head, can’t make himself look at him. He doesn’t want to think about how good it was, or how much he should have seen it coming. Every last case was him getting closer and closer to Strider and just leading up to this forced climax. 

He fears that Strider is just going to leave him here like this, to be found so exposed and violated. The thief does him one small justice. He leans back down and pulls his pants back up by the belt. “Can’t let anyone else see the beautiful cock that’s all mine under there,” Strider explains and Karkat feels some strange, agonized wave. At least he’s covered now, but somehow he still doesn’t feel better. 

Strider takes a step back and pauses. “Listen, I hate to kiss and run–” 

“ _You bastard_.” 

“But I gotta skedaddle. My bro and I send our regards.” 

He nearly skips out of the dim study, leaving Karkat to ruminate on what was surely the best blowjob he’s ever had. 

If there is one thing he ever hopes Jake does for him, it’s find him before anyone else does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [it's better when it feels wrong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIs5MhTx1uc)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> karkat is my favorite unreliable narrator  
> thanks again to notwest for going over this!
> 
> There is art for this chapter by my favorite, [papayaparty!](http://thedoublepp.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The nsfw art can be found [here](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/517752).


	3. In Cold Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake does a bad thing.

Jake wracks his brain as he looks down the hallway. Where’s the main gallery again? It’s reminiscent of an outer wing of the Louvre, or the British Museum. He goes, almost instinctively, to touch the button for his comm and then remembers he abandoned it on the floor back in the ballroom. 

He shouldn’t have split up with Karkat.

So many mistakes were made tonight. If he had a finger to point, he wouldn’t even know where to point it. The only thing that could keep him employed tomorrow is divine intervention. 

All because of the goddamn Striders.

He’s infuriated–about getting bamboozled at every corner, deceived and duped, hoodwinked and hoaxed every time they think they’ve got a step up. 

Changing direction, he moves up a floor and works his way back into the wing. 

This is what he was looking for. The hallway opens to a grand exhibition room with ceiling-length windows covered by thick curtains. Jake edges around the wall until he feels a glass panel. Bingo.

On the other edge of the room, a clicking sound echoes and he looks back to see one red light blinking. His eyes adjust further.

Here he is. 

The fury rages on inside but he swallows it in order to begin silently creeping across the room. He takes stock of what’s on his person, which are only his gun and fists, and handcuffs that would make too much noise if he tried to move them right now.

At least Strider seems to be focused on something else. Jake hears another clicking noise on the wall and he stills, looking out to see a second blinking red light across the gallery. Jake speeds up his steps. If Strider were to look around he’d be in full view. 

He runs through his options and mental catalogue of the duo. The Striders are proficient at blades, if Jake can disarm him of his sword he can take him close quarters. But if Strider catches him any further than a wingspan, he’s dead in the water, gun at the ready or not.  
A series of robotic objects are laid on on the bench in front of the main display, one of the last private Vermeers. 

He’s distracted. 

Strider holds up a hand and something flips. The lights finally flicker on and both red lights beat in succession before delivering a terminal tone.

The bulletproof glass shatters and the lights go out once more. Jake uses the turbulent second to sprint and throw his body into the air, both hands aimed for the padded shoulders. 

He slams into Strider’s body, who stiffens in shock at the impact. Jake savors the feeling of knocking the breath out of his opponent.

They land on the floor and slide a bit, Jake’s arm wrapped around Strider’s throat. He’s got the full back of his body flush against the sword; if Jake can just pull it out from between them…

Strider takes solid hold on the forearm Jake has wrapped around his neck and rolls out from under them. 

They can see each other fully now. That’s good– Jake’s glad Strider will know who bested him today. He stares back at him with a hostile gaze, attempting to emanate who the real man in this situation is. 

The suited man physically startles, his entire body going rigid. As well as he should, Jake thought with a small stab of pride.

Strider must know he’s in hot water now. 

Jake lunges out with a hand and Strider falls back onto the floor. They tussle there for a second. There’s no way he can go for his handcuffs. And he’s got to be mindful of the scattered glass shards.

Jake manages to get a good angle on one of his forearms and smash it to the floor but Strider’s knee comes up to strike him in the center of his ribs. Jake gasps and lets go, falling to one side.  
Strider starts to roll to standing as Jake pushes himself up, throwing a hand out to the paneled chest. 

It slips off the material as Strider pulls himself straight again. He reaches for his sword but hesitates, his hand wrapped around the hilt behind his back. His other hand goes to a pocket on his belt and removes a bunch of rope. 

Jake sweeps himself off the ground, glass crunching underfoot. “Hello, Strider.” 

He’s met with stony silence. He’s released the sword and is instead unspooling the rope in front of him. 

He can’t let him do that. 

“Fancy that, us meeting here to appreciate some fine art,” Jake tries again, eyes darting down to the rope, awaiting any sign that’ll show his next move. 

Strider lunges for Jake, aiming at one of his arms. He pushes against the inclination to fall backwards and instead charges toward him, palms wrapping around the length of rope he’s holding out in front of him. He kicks into Striders legs, yanking away with the rope. The rope slips out of his gloved fingers with a ‘thwap!’

 

Jake stumbles back, finding himself in possession of a length of rope and an upper hand. 

Strider finds his footing, his hand on his sword again. “Well? Come on at me,” Jake calls out to him. The thief’s lack of response is really starting to needle him. “By all means, don’t make this easy for me. I daresay you’ve been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ some time now.” Strider doesn’t respond, but Jake swears he hears one quiet, frustrated sigh. 

If he flips his hand around the rope, he can perform that trick his gran taught him once. 

Strider makes a break for the display. He whips past him and Jake lets the rope fly out, and when he’s sure that it’s a least below Strider’s chin, he yanks back. 

It digs into its target and Jake makes the hitch, yanking down the length and securing it around the man. He’s got to move fast now. If he can get ahold of just one of Strider's hands, he’ll be golden. 

With one hand holding the hitch tight, he slams his body into Strider’s and collides them into the wall. Strider can’t elevate his arms above the ring of rope along his biceps, but he can, and does, push his palms against the wall and shove away. 

Jake leverages another impact into his body and his hand chases Striders dominant right hand. He still can’t risk taking the time to reach for the handcuffs, he has to use what he’s got. He snags Strider’s hand down past his angular elbow and forces it against his back. Thankfully, this is something Jake has plenty of practice in. Holding a rope with a knot of control and one hand helps him peel him off the wall and swirl him around to plant him back into the ground. He lets the rope go loose, now chasing his left arm. 

Strider is more coordinated than Jake is on that side than he expects, so it’s difficult to nail him down. Jake manages to snag his forearm and pull it back to meet the other. One end of the loose rope goes round and round the wrists. He hitches it tight, as not to let those clothed hands slip out. 

Finally, by some grace of god, he’s got Strider right where he wants him– except, he still must watch the legs. Jake glances up to the bench and reaches for the cuffs, seeing his solution from afar. 

“C’mon, up you go,” he mutters aloud, yanking the rope. Strider tries to wrench forward, but Jake is prepared for it. 

He hurls Strider into the bench. Swift hands whip out cuffs and sling one down on the robber’s wrist, the other on the bench railing. 

Then, and only then, does he step back and exhale. 

The heat of the fight is fresh and it pulses through his veins. He glares down at the thief and sticks his hands in his pocket, still breathing hard from the exertion of pinning him. 

“Well, Strider. I think we can both agree this has been a long time coming. All this time chasing you, always giving us the slip. Not today.” 

The masked man just watches him.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something? Beg for me to let you go?”

Strider doesn’t respond, but he looks tense from his restrained seat on the bench. Jake hopes that he’s nervous. He deserves it. 

For once, Strider doesn’t know what’s coming. For once, Jake has the higher ground. Not like last time, the humiliating chase through the museum that led to Jake collapsing down a flight of stairs and nearly toppling a Picasso. Or the time before that, when they overrode a goddamn AI to steal a traveling jewel display. And the chain of bank robberies before that, the two of them cracking every security measure known to man. 

Every failure, screaming in Jake’s face. 

Jake feels rolling anger threatening to bubble over in his stomach. He wants to make Strider suffer. To show him who the true winner is. To throw back at him everything Strider has made him feel over the last months and then some. For every time he’d _waved_ at him. 

For the first time he’s got him in the palm of his hand and he… 

He doesn’t know where it comes from nor does he understand the intensity with which urge overtakes him, but he knows what he’s going to do. No, a certain future in jail isn’t enough for what he’s done. Not nearly. This is personal, just between them. This is what Jake gets to do now that he’s won. 

He’s going to humiliate him. 

Jake doesn’t consider himself rough. Nor does he consider himself vulgar. 

The people close to him, he treats like precious glass. But this? This was something else. 

“If you’re not going to speak, I’m going to make that mouth do something useful.” 

For the day he has the chance to unmask Strider, he sure wishes the lights were on so he could really savor the moment. 

His fingers reach out to find the barely visible line around Striders neck– a line which he's studied, he knows the mask comes off from here, and the man thrashes away, still silent.  
But he can’t move far, and Jake’s hands snap to enclose his neck. 

“Don’t,” Jake says, surprising himself at the deep growling threat his voice offers. 

Strider stills with the fingers wrapped around his throat and Jake thinks he can feel the steady thrum of blood through the thief’s arteries. The feeling of his hand around his adversary’s neck strikes something victorious and akin to arousal through his lower abdomen. 

Slowly he digs his fingers into the fabric and begins to pull it up, revealing skin. 

Strider’s breath hitches. 

Finally, a jawline. Lips. 

Jake pauses. 

When the mask comes off, this becomes a person. 

When the mask comes off, this becomes someone instead of a something. 

He thinks of Dirk. What would Dirk think if he knew what Jakes was about to do to a person? 

But to an object, a hole, a meaningless bug smudging Jake’s glasses? 

That, he doesn’t need to feel guilty about. 

He leaves the mask there, just below the nose. For now. 

He pulls away to unbuckle and drop his pants. Strider falls back with an audible gasp.  
If it’s in relief, Jake doesn’t give him a chance. He reaches forward and grips Strider’s jaw with one hand. The thief stills again and Jake revels in the ease of toying with him. 

He sticks a thumb into Strider’s mouth, expecting resistance but he just becomes pliant in his hands and... lets him do it. 

Jake is startled. He lets his other thumb join the other and Strider just _takes it_. 

Jake releases a frustrated noise. He wants him to hurt, to suffer, to choke. This isn’t suffering. 

At least, not yet. 

However, Jake is surprised at how Strider’s compliancy goes straight to his dick. It’s pretty obvious now. The obscenity, tension and relishing of his victory is making his breath come fast and heated. It’s some kind of absurd, lecherous thrill that pulses through him at what he’s about to do. It’s just…. so _unlike_ him. 

One hand stays, its thumb in Strider’s mouth to prop it open and the other curled around to dig into his jaw, a pressured warning to not try anything stupid. 

“Do you know what I’m about to do, Strider?” he asks. He doesn’t expect a response. 

With his other hand, he feeds his hardening length into Strider’s mouth. Now he especially doesn’t expect a response. 

He does, however, savor the surprised sound he makes. Jake grins and thrusts forward, leaving his hand iron-gripped around his jaw. 

“This is for everything,” he gasps out. 

His first thrusts are slow, testing. Strider isn’t fighting it, he’s probably shocked. 

Jake wants to hit him deeper. He thrusts in again, all the way, and moans as he feels tongue up the back of his cock. 

Strider is still malleable in his hands. He stutters his hips forward, sinking in as far as he can. 

When he’s confident that he isn’t going to bite down, thumb wedged in, he lets loose. He fucks into Strider’s mouth without restraint, savoring his shocked breathing. 

Jake has never been like this with anyone. With Dirk it’s always slow, sweet, loving. Dirk is precious. Not deserving of anything like this. 

Nobody he’s ever been with has been deserving of _this_. 

He powers on; the only sounds filling the room are his strained breathing and him fucking Strider’s face. He tilts his head back and groans. 

Jake doesn’t let up, especially not when he starts to feel the curls of pleasure in his abdomen.  
He wants to choke Strider out, make him gag… It’s bizarre, how good his yielding mouth feels around him. The rush of dominating him this way is like nothing other. Like every time he lost to the masked man was just leading up to this feverish moment. 

Like it was almost worth it. 

With the hot pace he’s working it happens quickly. One final thrust and he lets loose down Strider’s throat and feels it tighten around him. 

Jake finally stills and pulls away. He pulls his wet thumb out of his mouth and collects himself, zipping up his pants. Strider is coughing and wheezing. Jake can’t wait to really see his expression. Now that that business is over with, he’s got something else in mind. 

His fingers go to where he left the mask. 

Something cold presses against his neck. 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, bro.”

Everything goes black. 

 

\---

 

Karkat is furiously pacing when Jake gets to the steps at the front of the house. The lights are back on now and the entire street is lit up with red and white flashing ambulances and police vehicles lining the street. 

They have to give a statement. 

“So? What happened?” Jake starts, though he really needs an ice pack for his head before they really get to talking. 

Karkat scowls as he whips around to see him. “That’s a good fucking question I should be asking you.”

Jake bites his lip, hoping Karkat will steamroll on like he does sometimes. “They found me in my own handcuffs stuck to a chair. What the fuck else did we expect to happen? Now tell me how shit hit the fan on your end, because you’re obviously empty handed here.” 

“Right. Uh. The Vermeer was gone by the time I got there.”

“Oh really? So then how did you end up knocked out on the ground?” 

Jake flushes head to toe, called out. He could have gone about this better. “They were. He was. Waiting.” He can’t speak, he doesn’t know what to say. He needs to get home, shower, see-- oh god, he needs to see Dirk. 

“Right. Great. Fucking incredible.” Karkat claps his hands together. “Listen I’m going home. This report is on you.” Karkat waits a second, to see if Jake will protest, but he doesn’t. “If you want to stay on this case as badly as I think you do, I’m sure it’ll be good enough, right?”

Jake nods weakly. His head his pounding and he could really use some water. 

Karkat turns to go but he stops and looks back at him. “We have a lead though.”

Jake’s head perks up. “I’m listening.” 

“I think they’re actually brothers.”

\---

When Jake finally gets home it’s late Sunday night. He always feels bad leaving Dirk for these ridiculous weekend jobs. 

He’s on the couch, asleep and slowly breathing, his eyes tucked away under a loosely thrown arm.  
Jake sinks down in front of him on the oversize ottoman and puts his head in his hands. 

Oh, he’s really ruined everything now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [alt-J - In Cold Blood (Baauer Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaT_awMGiL8)


	4. Interlude Side A: Dirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> months in the past, but not many

Dirk Strider didn’t start off in love with Jake English. But it was inevitable, sure as a moth will be drawn to a flame--no matter how dangerous, it can’t stay away. 

“We’ve been flagged by Interpol,” was the first thing he had told Dave the night he found out. It was after they’d really got going, hauling in their first jobs and laying low in the city while still having access to the rest of the world. 

“Oh, no shit?” he grins. “Pound it bro, we’re in the big leagues now. Step aside Anton fuckface Laurant, the Striders are in this shit now.” 

“It’s not, necessarily speaking, a good thing.”

“What about that isn’t a good thing?” Dave blows a puff of air, disappointed. 

“We’ve been assigned agents. Agents focused on us.” He Dirk turns in his desk chair while flipping through the documents he’d lifted from the agency. 

Dave has already made himself at home, legs kicked up on the table. Dirk carries over the two separate files he’d printed and throws them down on the surface. 

“We’ve been assigned FBI agents Jake English and Karkat Vantas, they’re currently being contracted with Interpol for the Lord Caliborn Gang,” Dirk starts as Dave lifts his shoes off the table to look through the papers with raised eyebrows. 

He reaches for the first one, the file on English. Dirk has already read them both through. In fact before Dave got back to the apartment he’d read through everything he could find on them. Training, education, promotions, specialities. “Huh. Let me guess, the LCG has been a dead end so they gave ‘em another dead end. Because they’re not gonna find us. Especially not with this AI business you’ve been brewing up while you’re busy being a stick in the mud.” 

“This AI could save our lives and you know it. If we take this next job we’re going to need it.” 

“Blah blah blah, whatever we’re gonna do is not gonna be different from what we’ve already done dude.” 

“They installed AI at the Wynn.” 

That gets Dave’s attention. “Shit.” He bites his lip and then goes back to thumbing through the file. 

“They nicknamed him the Ladykiller, that’s prime,” is the only thing Dave can think to comment once he’s done with the first file. Dirk lets out a heavy sigh and takes the file back, sliding the other one over to him. 

“Something I’d like to find out for myself,” he says as Dave opens the other file stack and whistles. 

“I think this is the part where I say, ‘Oh no, he’s hot.’” Dave says while taking in the printed image of Vantas’ face. He finishes reading through the file and places it back on the table. “Okay then strategy dude, what do you propose we do?” 

Dirk smirks. “We tail them. Learn their strengths and weaknesses. Know how to fight them if it comes down to it. Figure out where their blind spots are and capitalize on them.” 

“Say no more, dude. I call the Vantas guy though.” 

Dirk gazes down on the file flipped open to English’s image and can’t find it in himself to be disappointed. 

\--

Jake English is some kind of machine. And Dirk would in general like to think of himself as one too, but it’s his own blind spot that is his undoing.

For a week, he follows him through the city. Keeps his eyes on him while he’s at work. Follows him when he’s investigating. Learns what his style is like. 

Women blush after speaking to him. He can’t really blame them. He’s always smiling with those white, pearlescent teeth that nearly shock the viewer when it’s turned on them. 

The guy lives alone and loves movies, like really really loves movies. He always knew what he wanted to do; he went into FBI internship at the earliest possibility. In his upbringing he’d had guns in his hands as soon as he was old enough to hold them. He was a practiced fighter, having taken to the boxing sessions forced on him when he’d been in academy and maintained the practice since he left. 

Dirk becomes Jake's shadow everywhere except for when he’s in the FBI building. And it’s when he’s not paying attention to his mark that he ends up with coffee splashed down the front of his shirt. Why does he always do that brainless, juvenile thing where he walks and types on his phone?

“Oh bloody bollocks,” Jake English says, as Dirk lifts his head from the written schedule he was composing for Dave to look at. Dirk meets his eyes and clicks off the phone. “Darn, that shirt is absolutely ruined.” Jake sighs and his shoulders shrug. “Heaven forbid I do a single thing right today,” he mutters under his breath. “I absolutely do have to get to a meeting but if you could possibly give me your information, I’d love to help you replace it. I really can’t let a handsome gentleman like you walk away and not try to make some amends.” 

Dirk tries not to let the confusion flash from his eyes as he shifts his stance and looks down to examine the damage to his front side. Well, they weren’t lying about him being charming. 

“Shouldn’t you be the one to give me your information?” 

Jake cracks a smile and Dirk is absolutely not used to that kind of power being wielded against him. “I insist,” he continues to smile and pulls out his phone. “Plus I’ve noticed we frequent the same coffee shop.” 

Dirk sucks in a breath. So the bastard is observant. Extremely observant and suddenly he’s on guard. “Oh?” he says, with forced mildness, taken by surprise. 

At this Jake actually seems to fluster. “You hadn’t noticed? Right. Of course. There I go, making a massive skulker of myself while you’re just trying to go about your own business.” He sighs and glances around. The beverage seeping through Dirk’s shirt is quickly starting to cool as a breeze blows past, exuding a small chill. 

He turns back to Dirk and sets his jaw. “I’m Jake English.” He holds out a hand, supposedly for Dirk to shake. 

Dirk bites back an ‘I know’ and takes the hand. Jake grips his firmly gives one firm shake. Dirk is more than at a loss for words, running through his catalogue of ‘what criminals should do’ and coming up absolutely empty. 

Jake hasn’t let go of his hand and Dirk is still staring at him. “Your name?” Jake asks.

Dirk is forced out of his thoughts by the thumb that brushes the back of his hand ever so gently, sending a strange but not unwelcome tingle up the back of his arm. “Dirk. Dirk Lalonde,” he nearly chokes out. 

“Dirk Lalonde,” Jake says, as if he’s tasting it. “What a lovely name.” 

After they’ve exchanged numbers and are walking away from each other, he receives a single text message and fluttering warmth mixed with dread curls in his stomach. ‘If you weren’t opposed to an alternative, could I take you out for a drink sometime?’ Damn, he’s bold. Straightforward. 

It clicks with sinking realization. What does a guy have to do to earn the reputation of a ladykiller?

His fingers start flying, flipping between replying to his text and inputting instructions into his AI to beginning arranging his cover identity. He doesn’t _have_ to go out with this dude, but the more information he can get the better. 

He is so, so screwed. 

 

\--

‘Drinks’ ends up being coffee because Jake had noticed they frequented the same shop, a fact that left Dirk feeling uneasy no matter which angle he looked at it from. 

It meant he had been lazy. 

He’s sitting in a wooden booth seat, smiling like a lark. Dirk has to pause and steel himself, one more time, as if he hasn’t already been doing it constantly all day. 

Jake stands up as he approaches, and reaches his hand out again. What a gentleman. 

Dirk takes his hand but this time finds it enveloped with both of Jake’s, clasped warmly. 

“Dirk Lalonde. Thank you for meeting me here.” He releases his hand and Dirk snaps it back, almost too quickly. 

He slides into the booth. “Don’t need to be so formal, _Jake_. I’m not here for one of your meetings you mentioned, am I?”

Jake laughs. “No no, thank goodness you aren’t. I uh-- here.” He seems to struggle for words for a second and pushes a beverage across the table to Dirk. “It’s on me, of course.” 

Dirk raises his eyebrows and takes the drink, lifting it to his lips but absolutely not sipping it. He’s got half a mind that this is a sting, and he’s ready to book it at any sign Jake gives it might be. 

“Good?” Jake questions, and takes a drink himself. 

Dirk looks down at the lid and back up. He hadn’t actually taken a sip, far too paranoid. “What is it?”

“It’s called the Bees Knees,” Jake smiles and Dirk nearly chokes. Of course that’s what he orders. Dirk relaxes ever so slightly and actually takes a sip. It’s good, he can taste honey and lavender. 

“Well, Dirk, since you’ve come all this way why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, I’m really quite curious as to what a handsome man such as you does around here,” Jake asks, shifting forward in his seat. 

Dirk leans back and wipes a hand across his face. “Uh, I really feel like you’re the one worth asking about in this situation.” 

Jake’s lips quirk into a half smile. “No no no, half of my job is paperwork--”

Dirk coughs a mental _bullshit_.

“And I doubt you’d find it that interesting,” Jake finishes. 

“Wow, that’s a terrible way to start off a date, calling your job boring,” Dirk cracks, but the word slips off his tongue. Jake catches it and his eyebrows fly up. Now both of his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“Oh-ho so this is a date? I thought I was just paying you back for my unfortunate accident the other day.” 

Dirk scrunches his lips and squints his eyes at him. English is not the one who should be trapping him. He’s about to open his mouth to backpedal but Jake is already talking.

“But don’t worry. I’m more than happy to call this a date.” He looks rather self-satisfied. Dirk sighs internally. “Since you’ve endeared me as such with that, I’ll give you this little tidbit-- I’m following the Lord Caliborn Gang.” 

Dirk feigns surprise easily. “Oh really?” 

“It’s a bloody difficult mess. Nobody wants to talk, because it means their brother, sister, mother, significant other ends up in chunks by the riverbed the next day. They’re ruthless.”

“So, what? You’re with the FBI?” 

Jake leans back. “Oh, well, now that one was a freebie.” 

Dirk mentally chides himself to play less dumb. He’s walking some kind of strange but fine line here. This place is right next to the FBI building downtown anyways. 

“Now you can’t evade this question forever…” 

“Right. Right.” Dirk had flipped and flopped on his cover for a little bit too long. Something that would put him on Jake’s level without rousing too much suspicion. Something he could feasibly fake without too much issue. “I’m a professor at the city college. I teach philosophy.” A cover that one would gloss eyes over, acknowledge, and look away. 

“You don’t say! You are a fascinating fellow.” Dirk almost grunts in frustration. No, that’s a boring job. Not worth mentioning, or calling ‘fascinating’ for that matter. This English guy obviously doesn’t recognize that. 

The conversation lulls for a moment and Dirk has to reset his face so as to not show what he’s thinking. Jake is trained in knowing how to look for liars.

The agent presses forward, undeterred. 

Each lie stacks onto the other neatly, a tight knit block formation that could come toppling down at the smallest slip. 

Dirk sets his lies in reality. He likes to program things. He doesn’t talk about what exactly but settles for telling Jake computer programs as a hobby. He’s left handed. He hedges on mentioning his sword collection but then ends up doing it anyways. “Never used them. Obviously. Just nice to look at.” 

“I work in a building full of accomplished people and somehow I feel none of them could hold a candle to you,” Jake admits. 

Dirk actually laughs at that. There is no fresher feeling than being told as a criminal that you’re more competent than an entire government building that wants you captured. He swallows it, this conversation has no place for pride. 

Eventually Jake is paged at nearly the same time Dirk’s phone informs him of a new job. 

He’s only half paying attention when Jake asks him a question as he stands.

“Are you free Saturday?”

Dirk hesitates. He knows what’s coming. But he can’t stop himself. “Hold on actually.” He flips open to his encrypted messages with Dave. 

They’re doing a job on Friday, not Saturday. 

“I am actually,” he responds, and then looks up at the agent. 

“Wonderful. Dinner?” Jake looks hopeful, but also assured.

No, is what Dirk should say. He should cut off this flight of ridiculousness before it gets more out of hand. 

So instead he exhales and says, “Sure.”

Jake beams and promises to message him later, and he leaves with a skip in his step. 

Dirk places his forehead into folded arms on the table. What the fuck is he doing? Why can’t he just say no to this guy? He’s hot, that’s a given, but why is Dirk letting him play this game with him? 

Whenever Dirk has gotten himself into fits of boredom or existentialism, Dave has just arranged for another job. Another puzzle to pass the time.

So instead of solving Jake, why it does it feel like Dirk wants Jake to solve him?

\---

Dirk’s never deployed one of the robots before. Partially because he’d never forgive himself if they were defeated and ended up in bureaucratic hands, but the Friday job finally gives him the opportunity, because some smartass thought they’d use heat signature sensing as a security measure instead of something more substantial. Between Sawtooth and Squarewave, it’s a done deal. 

Someone wants a family heirloom back that went to the wrong half of the family in an estate dispute. The Striders don’t need to pick sides, they just need to request a money transfer up front, and that’s how it works. 

But that still leaves the question of the German designed vault. 

Dave pouts when he’s told to take the backseat, but he still stands with crossed arms behind Dirk’s digital setup when the job goes down. 

“What if something goes wrong?” 

Dirk didn’t bother replying, hands busy flying over keys as they look through the eyes of the two robots. 

Squarewave has done his job. He blitzed the lights in the bank, now after hours. A night guard is slouched on the ground on the floor above. 

Sawtooth starts laser-cutting into the vault door and it starts to melt. 

An alarm goes off. 

“Motherfucker, _I told you_ ,” Dave mutters, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Dirk glances behind to look disparagingly at him and then calmly turns back to the screen. So the blueprints hadn’t mentioned the built-in alarm, so what. 

They’ve got less than seven minutes before help arrives. It’s going to take another two for Sawtooth to blow through the door and secure the lockbox. 

Sawtooth continues to melt through the door and while that’s happening, Dirk cues up Squarewave’s defense mechanisms upstairs. 

The robot gets through the door, taking about fifteen seconds longer than anticipated. Dirk’s eyes flip over the countdown to help arriving and all he can do now is wait. He leans his chin on nervously clasped hands over his desk as he wails on the vault door, pushing the carved out part through. He thrusts into the vault area and Dirk can finally view the walls of lockboxes. 

What he isn’t expecting is for FBI to bust through the door three minutes and thirty-two seconds after the countdown. 

Squarewave is poised in the front lobby facing the doors. 

“Dave, I need to man Sawtooth, you hold them.” He slides over one end of the keyboard and hears Dave crack his neck. 

“Aw, I thought you’d never ask. Can I say hi to them?” 

Dirk sighs. “You can but you know I don’t like it when you do that man. Voice patterns get easier and easier to track nowadays.” 

His brother doesn’t heed the warning and grabs the speaker jutting out. 

They are flanked by other officers wearing riot gear, but it’s unmistakable. English and Vantas are on the scene early. 

“Are you fucking fucking me right now? I thought the Striders were real-ass people, why the fuck are we here?” Vantas says. 

“Well, that’s because we are,” Dave speaks through Squarewave and both agents turn to look at the robot. 

Dirk watches the scene unfold on the other screen as he continues to key in the commands to Sawtooth, who is wheeling his way to the lockbox. He gets one kick with the magnetic unlocking mechanism. The robot holds his hand up to the lockbox and starts the magnet. The metal face juts out, collapsing and making way for removal. 

Dave keys in a command and Squarewave’s gun slides out. 

“Don’t kill anyone,” Dirk murmurs. 

Dave huffs an “I know,” and plugs in the switch to the darts, which are slow-acting but effective. 

Squarewave starts to aim down the line of officers and the two agents make a run for it.

The darts hit their marks, and Dirk is a little bit sorry that by the time they were out of the robot’s field of view, the two professionals were passed out on the ground and he didn’t see it happen at all. 

\---

Jake warns him about his unsightly appearance in a text before dinner. Dirk stares down in his phone like, what the fuck could make this guy any less attractive than he usually is?

It’s made clear when Jake slides into the booth and Dirk’s face slackens into one of shock. 

His entire left frontal lobe of his forehead is covered by a giant bruise.

Oh. 

Jake notices his expression immediately and puts a hand to his forehead. “Is it really that bad?” he says, frowning. 

Dirk fights with his expression. “No! No, it isn’t I swear. Rough night?” he tries instead and flinches immediately because that was an extremely assuming question. 

Jake doesn't notice. “You could say that,” he grumbles. “Nice little meeting with a marble floor, compliments of my new case.” 

And it’s with that reminder that everything topples over inside Dirk. He shouldn’t be here. He did this. This is his fault. This is why he can’t be with anyone, ever. He’s only going to end up hurting them, and in so many more ways than one. 

“I.... I should go,” he murmurs and slides out of his seat to stand with a faraway expression. 

Jake throws out a hand. “Wait! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I know I wasn’t being entirely honest the other day, my work can get a bit more exciting than I would like it to admit. But honestly, after spending some time with you I’ve never felt more relaxed.” 

Jake’s hand is clasped around Dirk's wrist, keeping him anchored. His eyes follow the connection up to the agent’s face, which looks so hopeful and pleading. 

He owes him this. He owes him this much. 

Dirk sits down again, his eyes never leaving Jake’s face. It turns from pleading to pleased and it washes cold liquid through his chest. 

They talk about his fabricated philosophy courses and Jake’s interest in movies. It almost feels like cheating now that Dirk knows practically everything about him. Does he act surprised about this and that fact or not? But Jake never seems to notice, eating up his attention. 

“I would like to see you again,” Jake says when they step out onto the street. 

Dirk can’t remember the last time someone stood so close to him. His throat is dry. “Okay,” he says hoarsely, unable to stop looking into his vibrant eyes. Jake holds his gaze and smiles. 

Two hands suddenly cradle Dirk’s face. He can’t breathe. His eyes close, and he feels Jake’s lips press against his. 

There is certainly something to be said on the matter of chemistry. Though Dirk does not consider himself an expert, he can recognize it. Jake’s lips on his are an exothermic reaction unlike any other he’s felt before, a combination of dizzying heat and breath and scent. Dirk breathes him in greedily but Jake has already pulled away. His eyes flutter open to another quirked smile and delighted green eyes. 

Jake's thumb brushes down his cheek. “A movie, this week maybe?”  
Dirk nods, still dazed. “Of course,” he breathes. Again, he knows what he should say. But Jake looks so happy and after what he’s done, he can give him this. He should give him this? If this man is so dead set on seeing him again, he will let it happen. 

After all, it seems ‘No’ is not a word in his vocabulary around agent Jake English. 

\---

Jake kisses him after the movie date, too. 

In order to not think too much about it Dirk busies himself in future projects and planning and new robots for the field. It wears away at the time spent thinking between his growing number of dates and little quiet meetings with Jake. 

He thinks about Dave and can’t help but feel like he’s seeing him less too. Which is fine, they don’t live together. It’s not, and shouldn’t be, his business. 

After a rather pricey break-in, Jake ends up inviting Dirk to his place. Dirk, for more than obvious reasons, refuses to invite Jake over to his, so this is certainly a progression. 

Dirk ends up slouched on Jake as they watch yet another movie. The agent looks tired. 

Something must flash over Dirk’s face because Jake sighs heavily at his expression and starts to explain. “I’m fine, I promise. This Strider pair has really been giving me the runaround at work. There was a burglary, and we had traced it, and, well, the guy saw me on the way out and just, _waved_ at me before disappearing into the night. Which no matter how many times I tell them to get me helicopters on standby they just don’t listen… But still. He waved at me. Like he was taunting me. Like he knew he getting the best of me in this infantilizing game of one-upmanship.”

Dirk stops focusing on his words for a second to recall that moment and mentally facepalm. He’d seen Jake, which hit some kind of ridiculous reflex and he’d literally waved at Jake in his full body suit before throwing himself out the window. He refocuses back on Jake, who is apologizing. 

“I’m sorry, I told myself I wasn’t going to let work get in the way but darn is this case just making me so _mad_!” 

As he says it Dirk swears he feels the word vibrate through Jake with gritted teeth. The leaden guilt it invokes weighs like brick on his chest. His words feel unpleasant and hint at something insidious, and whether that insidious thing is in him or Jake doesn’t matter because he reaches over and grabs Jake by the face, pulling him into a kiss. 

Jake makes a small noise of surprise before melting into it and slotting their faces together. Dirk attempts to wring out the guilt by licking into his mouth, which arouses a gasp from Jake.  
The guilt isn’t getting better. Dirk throws a leg over and slides into Jake’s lap, straddling him on the couch and pressing his kisses to become more insistent. 

Incredibly firm hands dig into his hips and push back. “Easy, Dirk,” Jake laughs uncomfortably from below him. 

Dirk barely gives him the chance to speak as he continues to kiss him and further demand his mouth. 

“Dirk,” Jake says more firmly, so Dirk pulls away to peer down at him, confused.

“What,” he breathes. The sooner Jake will let him kiss him the sooner he can stop thinking about his massive fuckup. Because if he starts processing that then he’ll need to process this relationship, and he absolutely cannot get started on that. 

“We should… I want to…” Jake struggles for words and Dirk is about to dive right back in, impatient. “I want to take this slow. You’re special, Dirk,” he says very quickly, and something dies inside Dirk. 

Dirk is used to feeling like he’s good at what he does. His services wouldn’t be so often sought out otherwise. He’s used to the gratification of finishing a job. 

But he’s not used to the feeling of being called special, of being told he was someone worth _going slow_ with.

He’s a liar, a thief, and now a thin facade that will topple over at slightest provocation. 

And most of all, he is not special. 

Jake’s hands are still firm on Dirks hips and he shoves him back ever so slightly. “In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Dirk goes still over him. “Yeah?” he says, still breathless from his kisses. 

“I was wondering if we could make this more official? It’s just, I know it hasn’t been that long,” 

_Two months_ flashes through Dirk’s brain. What was life before Jake English?

“But I’m selfish and I can’t handle the thought of you dating someone else. Dirk,” he takes both of Dirk's hands and clasps them in his. “I want to hold on to you.” 

It is so romantic and cheesy Dirk can hardly stand it. “Okay,” he agrees. He's shaking.

He will never, ever deserve Jake English. 

 

\---

Dirk crouches on top of the metal shipping holder. The drone is doing its work many pallets away. He can hear a helicopter in the distance and his breath hitches. It reminds him to work fast. And where the hell is Dave? 

Over on the other end of the dock, police are arriving. He wonders if Jake is out there again. 

No, no emotions during work, need to focus on the task at hand. In his mental checklist, he’s already crossed off ‘triplines’ so they should at least be free of people down below. But considering there is help up in the air, that’s going to be a problem. He’s got time at least. 

He hears the crackle of a radio and a familiar voice. “Have we got eyes up above?”

He lets his forehead fall against the roof of the metal container. _Jake, not again_ he thinks and peers over the top of the container. English is making his way down towards him, two rows over. If he doesn’t stop and turn around– 

He hears a splash. 

Oh, fuck. He pushes off his perch on the metal container and drops down on the floor, curving his way around to where the dock edges on the water. 

Jake English brushes hair and water out of his eyes and looks up to see him. Dirk hesitates and realizes he’s about to try and help Jake out of the water. Which he can’t do. 

The soggy man glares up at him from the ocean. It’s hateful and Dirk has never seen that look on his face before. Then Jake speaks and it’s unmistakable. “ _Fuck you, Strider._ ”

Jake hates him. 

—-

Dirk stares at the door in front of him, hesitating. He knocks on the door and waits. 

After a few seconds Jake answers. “Dirk?” His hair is slightly disheveled, it looks like he may have just showered. 

Dirk surges forward and kisses him. Jake ‘mmphs’ into his mouth, surprised. His hands go around him, in his hair, and Jake somehow manages to close the door behind them.

He pulls away. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dirk keeps his eyes shut. He can’t look at him. “Just wanted to see you.” 

If he opens his eyes now he’ll probably see Jake beaming and there’s no way he could handle that right now. His lips find Jake’s again and he can barely hold back his own frenzy, pressing into Jake urgently with all the apology he can never speak. He finally feels Jake’s legs backing into the couch and helping them down. His legs go to straddle Jake’s once more, a position he’s become more than familiar with, but this time Dirk’s hands wander down to the buckle of Jake’s pants. 

Jake breaks away from him. “Dirk, what’s gotten into you today?” 

Dirk tries to kiss him again but he finds a hand pressed against his cheek. It’s too gentle and it doesn’t feel right. “I just was thinking about you, all day,” he manages to squeeze out. What buttons can he push, and how fast? His hips grind down on Jake in his lap and he breaks away from the kiss to nip at his chin and ear. A quick jump of hips answers. 

Dirk slides Jake’s pants down to the floor, and follows with kneeling down. He hears the sharp intake of breath above him and a small murmur of his name. 

He licks up the back length of Jake's hardening dick. He's freshly showered and tastes ever so slightly of soap. 

He takes the head fully in his mouth, opening his eyes to see Jake peering down at him with a slightly unhinged jaw. 

“... Dirk?” he asks again with a small hint of confusion. 

He slides down further, taking in his cock and Jake curses softly above him. He continues to wet him with his mouth, working up and down the length. The moan from behind a hand that Jake releases steadies him. Dirk kicks up the pace, inciting another gasping utterance of his name. 

Faster, more. 

Hands push up on his shoulders. “Dirk, my god, slow down, that’s a little rough don’t you think?”

Dirk makes a discontented noise from his throat. Forceful hands are pushing him up and off. 

“Dirk please, spend some time with me, this can wait.” His voice sounds strained. 

Wait, what? “Was that... not okay?” 

“No? Yes? Lord above, Dirk, I don’t want you to just come in and see me like you’re some five buck prostitute.”

Hands run through Dirk's hair and he can feel Jake hoisting him up back onto the couch. 

“Now there. That’s better.” He’s working on buckling up his pants, sweating and flustered. “Are you hungry?” 

He’s not, but he says yes anyways. 

—-

Jake futilely tugs against the handcuffs. Honestly, Dirk wants to thank whoever rigged this door like a goddamn MRI. It was originally intended as a safety measure for the extremely sensitive material inside the vault that Dirk currently is placing inside a lead-lined container. 

He can feel like the searing glare of Jake’s eyes from behind his head at the suit and feels oddly self conscious. 

“What do you intend to do with that?” Jake asks, with venom in his voice. 

Dirk doesn’t look at him or respond verbally, just shakes his head ever so slightly. 

He hoists the container onto his back and steps through vault door, regarding English with a nod of his head. Jake grits his teeth and yanks again in his direction with a grunt. 

Dirk exhales, looks forward, and continues out of the building. 

The next day when he sinks down with him again on Jake’s bed, those same clenching hands are gentle and soft. 

—

Dirk sprints down the marble flooring, wincing as his boots squeak against the floor. Jake English is giving chase behind him. 

Like the last few times, he doesn’t know where Dave is and plans to throttle him next time he gets the chance. Which is hopefully in less than an hour if he can find his way out of this building. 

“Strider!” Jake roars behind him and Dirk is pretty sure he’s gaining on him. He needs to get to the top floor. When he gets to the staircase he leaps over the bannister and vaults up to the next floor. 

Luckily, while Jake has him surpassed in muscle, Dirk's got him beat with lithe athleticism. 

Jake actually copies his jump up the stairs. This isn’t going to work. Dirk swallows and dives behind the wall at the top of the next floor. Jake follows quickly and Dirk darts out. He slams his body into the agent’s, letting Jake’s own momentum carry him…

All the way down the grand flight of stairs, where he slams into the abstract art piece in the center of the hallway. 

Oh, fuck. 

Dirk skids at the top of the stairs and watches as Jake pulls himself up to his knees, his hand going to the gun at his side.

A voice crackles in Dirk’s ear. “Where you at, bro?”

He’ll make it up to Jake, somehow. Hopefully. For now he needs to get back up to the roof and deliver this jewelry piece. 

—-

He lets himself into Jake’s place with the key he gave him. Which Dirk had laughed at a little, since it was rather ironic to give a thief a key. Nonetheless, the significance of it was not lost on him. Jake had handed it to him like it was nothing. Had told him that the highlight to his day was coming home and knowing Dirk was there. So, he found himself spending more nights at Jake’s place than his own. Jake wanted it so much and saying no was pretty much impossible when he was bearing into him with those intensely adoring green eyes. 

Now he’s just got to wait until Jake comes home. He flips open his laptop on his table and checks that the last transaction has been added to his and Dave’s off-shore bank account. The numbers are comforting, maybe he can take Jake somewhere like London or Amsterdam, that might be fun. Although there’s a significant amount set aside for a piece of technology he’s been waiting to use. He hears movement of the door handle and swiftly closes the screen, pulling up some journal on philosophy. 

Jake practically tumbles in and sighs, a deeply relieved sound, when his eyes land on Dirk. He sets down his bag and cracks his neck. They both wince. Soon he’s reaching Dirk at the table and running a hand through his hair. “Boy, are you sight for sore eyes,” he murmurs. 

Dirk scoots the chair back to stand and Jake melts into him. He hums softly, pleased. 

“How are you,” Dirk asks softly, dreading his answer. 

“A little banged up, but better now that I’ve seen you.”

“You should show me.” 

In Jake’s room Dirk kisses every small bruise he’d inflicted. It’s agonizing. When he’s done Jake kisses him softly, and he’s not sure what hurts more. 

Jake fucks him, no, makes love to him with long and languid strokes, his forehead pressed against Dirk's back as he whispers sweet nothings in his ear. 

—-

When he gets home the next day, Dave is waiting impatiently for him. 

“Where the fuck have you been, we were supposed to meet like half an hour ago,” he asks with crossed arms. 

“Not your business.” Dirk sighs and settles into his desk chair to begin pulling some blueprints. 

“I think this time it is my business.”

He doesn’t look up from the screen. “Oh?” 

Dave’s question slaps him in the face. “Are you living with English?”

Dirk’s back goes rod straight. “I don’t think that has anything to do with anything.” 

“What? Fuck no. Are you serious right now? Dude.”

“I’m not interested in a lecture.”

“Says the guy who is posing as a fucking philosophy professor. What a fucking joke.”

Dirk pauses and actually turns to look at Dave. “How did you know that?” 

“Because of your garbage encrypting, asshole. I tracked that trail like the twentieth century Lewis and Clark.”

Dirk opens his mouth to respond but Dave holds out one finger. “Do you remember what Bro told us when we first started?”

“ _Bro_ is in jail for six counts of murder.”

Dave exhales through his nostrils and purses in his lips before speaking, still holding his hand out. “He said never let–”

“–Your emotions get in the way, I know, I know,” Dirk finishes. 

“Dirk, why do we do this?”

“Because it’s what we’re good at,” he answers, quieter. 

“Then dude, what the fuck are you doing?”

Okay, now he’s mad. “Oh, no, man. You don’t get to be the one to ask me that when I _know_ you’ve been stalking Vantas for god knows how long,” Dirk spits back at him. 

“At least I’m not fucking living with him!” 

Dave’s words hang in the air because Dirk has no response.

“Listen, dude, when all of this falls apart I don’t want to be there to get sucked in. I am not going to jail with your sorry ass.” 

“We’re not going to jail, and he’s not gonna find out,” Dirk says firmly. He’s not sure, really. In fact the tight pulse of anxiety hangs there in his gut, haunting him. 

“Yeah well there’s one thing you should know then, _Professor_ ,” he sneers the word. “You can’t keep this up forever. All parallel lines cross at infinity. Sooner or later you’re going to get caught and it’s not going to be pretty.”

Dirk shakes his head and turns back to his computer, where the LeMausier estate blueprints are loading for their next job. “Just get your suit together, asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably note that I was not originally intending to continue this fic after chapter 3. By that I mean, I only had 'Concept: Dave service tops and Dirk cucks himself' and that was it. So everything is basically written backwards and hopefully makes sense! Dave and Karkat's arc was kind of a monster to think out considering that but I will hopefully be done soon. 
> 
> If you're interested in reading this earlier than I post it, this fic is a live jam project on the Strilondes Fan Jams server. 
> 
>  
> 
> thank you to notwest again you're a dream!!


	5. Interlude Side B: Dave

Obsession is a heady scent that does not suit most who wear it. 

Or so Dave thinks about anyone that isn’t him… Though he never expected it to get this bad.

—

Dave tails Karkat at leisure. He’s not as practiced with combat as his partner, and if Dave were to call English the brawn, Vantas is surely the brains. Almost specifically because the guy has one volume level, but ironically spends most of his time in the central library. 

He can appreciate the irony from afar. What escapes him is what Karkat is doing.  
It’s not until he starts slinking around the library and passing behind the agent that he sees him doing research. And writing. He can’t tell what though, and it slowly starts to eat at him. 

Vantas spends part of time doing something that actually seems like work-–digging through old history on gangs and thieves, and the other half writing. He’s got no significant other to go home to as far as he can tell. Sometimes he sees a friend who gets coffee with him. Questionable taste in movies. 

At ground level the guy is a functioning workaholic and Dave is bored. 

It’s not until Vantas nearly catches him that he starts to pay attention.

The job was was supposed to be an easy catch. Just some shit on display, nothing Dave hasn’t done before. A nice, easy smuggling ring job.

Dave reaches down and picks up the necklace from the display and furrows his eyebrows as he realizes it’s light. Oh shit, it’s a fake. 

Ah, of course. He hears the classic “Freeze!” yelled from behind him and feels more than a little off put. He turns around to see Karkat with some friendly backup. 

“Ooooh, nice one, sweetcheeks.” Dave holds up his hands and drops the piece of plastic garbage, but clicks to his earpiece for a quick second. “Dude, a little help,” he whispers. There isn’t an answer. 

He looks around the room and realizes he’s actually cornered. There’s no window in this room, and the rest of the hallway is blocked by the officers. They must have orchestrated this from the beginning, how come he didn’t catch it? If he weren’t in such a bind he’d probably further acknowledge his begrudging admiration for the trap. 

It’s not time to think about that, or really anything. He breaks for it and barrels right through the guy on Vantas’s left.

Dutifully, Vantas gives chase. 

Dave knows that he’s fast. He’s practiced for this. The guys in the SWAT levels of gear can’t keep up, but Vantas is…. Actually staying with it. 

His footsteps echo through the massive hallways of the building as he races through like a black dart. Vantas storms on behind him. 

The nice thing about working with a robotics expert is that you can really never have any shortage of getaway options. They're not Dirk’s favorite, but Dave absolutely loves the AI motorcycles. They’re cued up in an alleyway that’s a doable but not necessarily friendly jump out of a window. This isn’t the usual strategy, in fact it was a backup in this case, but Dave is finding himself a little limited on options. 

He glances back to see Vantas sprinting after him, moderately exerted but his face is still set and collected. He’s still holding his gun as he pumps his arms to run. Charming. 

Dave turns forward and slides back through another hallway. At the very end is the window, and if the AI is working correctly, his ride should be right there at the bottom of the drop. He slows ever so slightly as he launches himself through the glass panel with his armored elbow first. It shatters around his suit. As he leaps he makes out the bike scooting backwards through the alley to catch up and he lands right in the saddle with an ‘oof!’. The shock of landing is more or less absorbed by the bike. He looks back up to the window, preparing his hand to finger gun up at an astounded, chicken FBI agent and ride away. 

Obviously, since nothing is going his way tonight, that’s not what happens. 

Vantas actually follows the ridiculous three-floor jump out of the window. He shorts the bike by a couple of feet and rolls into the fall, up to standing. If the landing hurt, he doesn’t show it. That’s sort of beast. Dave gives him a 4.69/5. 

Dave’s fingers wrap around the handlebars and he accelerates as Vantas launches himself at the bike and wraps an arm around Dave’s neck. The arm wrapped around his neck is holding a gun. He hopes the increased velocity will throw Vantas off as he drags on the ground. 

The agent pushes off the ground and into the seat behind him. Great. 

“Autodrive,” he tells the AI and releases from the handlebars to begin untangling the body behind him. 

The motorcycle starts to follow its calculated escape path over the damp streets of the city. The front of the building is now barricaded and the motorcycle snakes through them. A couple milling cops spot the two of them and break for their cars. 

As the motorcycle weaves through the barricade, Dave digs his gloved fingers into the arm wrapped around his neck and tries to wrench it off. Vantas hangs on and and pounds his other fist on Dave’s head. Then he he pulls back and tries a left-handed hook, which is kind of weak, and throws his body into it, attempting to knock both Dave and himself off the ground.

The AI-driven bike holds steady and Dave clenches his fingers around the handlebars and his thighs around the seat to stay on. He kicks his head back to hit Karkat’s at the same time and he gives another good jerk to the arm around his neck. He victoriously dazes Vantas enough to let go and he slips back and almost off the back of the seat. 

“Hey hot stuff, if you wanted a ride all you had to do was ask!” Dave shouts as he looks over his shoulder and plummets an elbow into the space behind him. He doesn’t have good leverage saddled like this, but it lands on his target who is scrambling for balance and a good hold on Dave. Vantas only grunts in response. 

The map in his glasses tells him the bike is about to take a sharp turn left. It continues to calculate, taking into account every car around them as they pass by. He continues to drive his elbow back and waits until the bike hits the turn so strongly he swears they go almost horizontal with the ground. 

As they swerve he throws his fist and elbow back to smash Vantas’s face. Finally, he knocks the guy off. Dave looks back as he tumbles on the ground.

The guy is tough. He picks himself up and runs straight for an unwitting passerby leaving their car for valet at a restaurant. 

Car chase? Sure, why the hell not. 

Vantas throws himself into the retrieved silver Lexus behind him and turns on the car. Bright, white lights fill Dave’s back mirrors as he flies down the one-way street

The pavement is wet from a quick rain earlier in the evening. He pushes the bike on. Karkat is two blocks behind him by now. 

He won’t be able to catch up, not unless he--

Vantas turns on the one-way street. Is he abandoning the chase? That’s boring. Dave turns back to the path in front of him. The AI can’t calculate where the agent is, but the answer to his whereabouts makes itself clear when the Lexus comes shooting back at him through a small parking lot between buildings and plows into Dave midway through the street. 

It’s pure shock. Dave can’t remember the last time someone got the upper hand on him like this. The hit knocks the bike to the ground and sends it skidding down slick asphalt. His leg gets completely smashed and he shouts as the bike slides. The bike collides into the curb with the momentum of the hit. _Fuck that hurt._

He yanks his leg out from under the bike and struggles to get out from under it as the door to the Lexus pops open. Vantas stands and points a gun at him over the door as Dave scrambles up to his feet. 

The AI machine rights itself, and he focuses his attention on Vantas, taking him in through his heat-signature lenses. 

“Stop or I’ll shoot, Strider,” Vantas calls across the street, which has frozen of movement in their standoff. His face is still set in that same collected look of concentration.

“You won’t shoot me, cupcake,” Dave calls back. “I ain’t hurt nobody.” 

The bike pings, letting him know it’s good to go on. A bullet flies behind his head and buries itself into brick wall as he throws a leg back over the bike. He whips his head toward Vantas, who is still standing beside the car door with his hands wrapped around his firearm. 

“Damn, I didn’t think a pretty thing like you could do that. Don’t seem like the kind of guy to lose his load early,” Dave calls back as he takes back off down the road. 

Vantas, calm as ever, gets back in the car and takes off after him again. 

He’s not actually really sure if the AI takes into account car chases, so he clicks it to manual and starts to plot his own getaway map. He careens down a busier street and starts to weave his way through cars. At this time of night there’s less people on the road of the city, but enough to make trouble for the agent. 

He looks to his right. Several streets down are the train tracks. Perfect. He glances back behind him to see the bright white lights of the Lexus following him, several cars behind. 

Dave weaves in front of a bus and accelerates. The adrenaline is flooding him like something sweetly nauseating. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying. He’d get drunk on this feeling time and time again. 

He rides off the busier road and through another parking lot that leads to an alley as he pushes himself through the cityscape. 

Vantas follows him, one street over. Still close enough to make him a bit nervous. 

Dave zig-zags again, slowly but surely weaving his way to the tracks. It’s time to end this.

He’s now directly heading towards the railway. He waits with bated breath as the pursuing Lexus keeps tracking his bike. 

It flies across the street as the railroad crossing lights flash red and the blocks come down. Dave crosses the railway track just as the train flies behind him, blocking the path between the himself and Vantas. 

The car comes to a screeching halt in front of the train on the opposite side. Dave can make out the bright white Lexus lights, flashing between the train cars. He laughs to himself and then continues down the road. 

It’s time to call it a night.

As he rides to the safe point, he allows himself to muse on what just happened. Unless his heat signature sensing is off, that cool and collected face was totally wrong-- because it was telling him that Karkat Vantas was completely and undeniably aroused in more than one way. 

-

Dave had been intending to stop tailing him after that. 

He really, really had been. 

He’d gotten what he needed. 

But something kept him coming back. _Who is this guy?_ , he wonders. Who is the guy that pointed a gun at him with an erection and a completely straight face? Who is the guy that steals a car to chase a criminal through a city and then spends the rest of his time writing in a fucking library? 

More notably, Dave was impressed. Bro had trained him to look for every hole someone could poke through, any misstep someone could take advantage of, and to watch his back. This agent had totally blindsided him in a way Dave hadn’t seen before. There’s a kind of respect that goes along with that, but he wasn't about to walk up to Karkat and give him a fist bump. 

It’s oddly infuriating. He pays more attention those following days, except that watching him work in a library is about as boring as watching Dirk coding and he’s certainly not learning anything new about the guy. 

The next natural step is escalation. 

He nudges Vantas on the way in and lifts a piece of paper out of his folder. Then, about ten minutes later he stands in front of the table space he’s occupying. 

“I think you dropped this,” he whispers, attempting some kind of nasal cover on his voice. The sound of himself almost makes him bark with laughter. 

He holds the paper out to the agent who looks up to meet him with a burning glare in his eyes.

He watches very carefully for any sign of recognition in Vantas’ eyes. The agent takes him in, eyes dashing across his oversize sweater up to his impeccably coiffed hair and the largest dark framed hipster-ass glasses Dave could scrounge up on the internet. With a scowl he looks down to the paper held out between them. He stops scowling as he recognizes the paper as one of his own and immediately frowns. He snatches the paper out of Dave’s hands. 

“Thanks,” he grits out at Dave who just grins but then quashes it to try and stay in line with his persona. He manages a small smile. 

“So, uh, you’re reading about the local robberies.” He adds a small stutter to his voice. Vantas sighs and sits back. 

“That paper was classified. You shouldn’t have seen that and it was stupid of me to let that happen. Now if you would, I’m fucking busy.” He speaks well above a whisper.

Dave manages some outrage and struggles to not make it sound mocking. “We’re in a public library du- sir.” He goes for the more formal sounding word, wondering what a book stack-dwelling dweeb would say. “Just uh, sorry. I-I mean, if you have any questions I’d be happy to answer. I have a bit of an interest in the subject myself to say the the least.” He elbows the air. 

It earns an upticked eyebrow from Vantas and Dave immediately memorizes the image. Even here, he carries himself with a tense demeanor that Dave would think was otherwise reserved for the field. 

“I’ve been researching a few groups for about a month now, what makes you think you could help me.” Karkat is definitely trying to get him to leave. 

Dave purposefully doesn’t take the hint. “I work here,” he says succinctly and continues to look for any expression change on Karkats face. The scowl slackens some and Dave is pretty sure it’s really the first he’s seen any change. 

“Not to be an asshole–” He’s definitely being an asshole. “–But don’t you have something else you could do then?”

Dave shrugs. Acting might be easier than speaking so instead of leaving be pulls out the chair next to Karkat’s and sits down. His eyebrows pull down into a half glaring, half confused expression. 

“I’m Dave, how can I be of service?” he asks, maintaining that soft nasal tone and Karkat well and truly gapes at him. Dave drinks it in. Finally, he’s getting something, anything out of this stupidly stoic agent. He mentally congratulates himself. 

One point for Strider, and hopefully many more to go. 

“I don’t need any help,” Karkat mutters again, and Dave responds with a half-hearted shrug. 

“I promise I can help you.” It’s earnest enough. 

Karkat pulls himself together, back to his stoic face, but he shakes his head. “If you wanna be useful, go find me this.” 

He rips a piece of paper off the stack he’s working on and writes down a title. Dave is suspicious he made it up just to get him to leave, but he grins and gets up to go look for it anyways. Gotta win his trust somehow right? Anyways, it’s never too late to learn the decimal system, or whatever this old dusty building uses. 

Dave eventually gives up and has to go and ask someone that actually works there for help. What he learns then explains everything. This library has a dedicated collection on the history of famous criminals. No wonder Vantas spends so much time here, if he’s working on something related to crime this would be the best place to do it. Dave is sure he would be home otherwise, so he takes a moment to appreciate just how damn lucky this all is. 

He comes back with the title and a triumphant smile. 

“Finally,” Karkat sighs, and takes it from him. 

“Sooooo…. What exactly are you working on?” Dave asks as Karkat leafs through the pages, looking for something.

Karkat doesn’t look up. “A book, obviously.” 

“On what?” Dave asks, leaning into his oblivious guise.

The agent sighs but doesn’t look up at him. “Isn’t it obvious by now?”

“Well, I am noticing a theme,” Dave replies. 

Karkat doesn’t answer him “This one doesn’t have it. Shit,” he murmurs and purses his lips. He looks at his computer. “I need a PDF.”

Dave furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and then reminds his face to relax so he continues to look like he knows what he’s doing. 

Karkat writes down another title, and goes to tear it off but then pauses. “I don’t mean to make you an errand boy, well maybe I do, but if you’re gonna keep asking me questions I’m gonna make you work. So far this beats getting up and down to go look for something.”

“Say no more, friend.” Dave withholds a wink as he holds his hand out receptively for the piece of paper. 

“...We’re not friends,” Karkat mutters, rather quietly. 

“Well, we could be, ‘cept that I still don’t know your name.”

He pauses, zoning out for a second to stare down at a spot on the desk. He’s caught off guard. Dave watches him consider his request. 

“Karkat,” he finally settles on saying.

“Well Karkat, it’s nice to meet you,” he replies cheerfully. He swears the agent grinds his teeth together as he rips off the piece of paper and hands it over. 

Dave chuckles to himself as he walks away. He’ll break him down, eventually. 

In between the quick searches Karkat sends him on, he peppers him with questions.

Karkat is writing a book on criminal methods and how they have adapted over the years. Yes, the writing is a hobby, sort of. No, research is not always fun. Yes, the paper was classified because he works for the government. No, he doesn’t work for the CIA, he’s FBI. Asking that question requires Dave to feign a sneeze to hide his laughter. Yes, he should probably wait until he’s got more experience to publish it. Karkat admits that tibdit rather reluctantly. Yes, he would rather be at home. No, he’s never been shot. Yes, he has shot other people. Dave knows better than to ask if he’s killed anyone but he does find himself moderately curious. 

The answer that catches him off guard is: no, his job isn’t boring, and he wishes it was. 

Well, that’s a load of bullshit. 

“Then why do you even do it?” rolls out of Dave’s mouth.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Why do you work for the FBI if you just want to sit here all day?”

He actually considers his question. “I was an… impressionable youth? I idealized things?” Karkat’s mouth turns into a clearly uncomfortable line. “You learn things about yourself...” he trails off. 

Dave notices a bare hint of flush on the man’s face. Now he’s getting somewhere. 

“Like… killing people?” That would be rich. 

“What?” Karkat practically jumps. “Oh, hell no. That’d be fucked up. No,” he laughs, sounding somewhat nervous. 

Dave starts to ask him another question and Karkat, seeming somewhat flustered, sends him for another paper. Dave feels like he’s winning. 

Eventually Karkat stops for the day. “Fuck--”

“Language.”

“I barely got anything done.”

“I brought you like five books.” Every omitted ‘dude’ and ‘man’ is starting to build up. He’s impressed at himself for managing to suppress it at all. 

“Yeah, and distracted me every single time. Ugh, I need to go.” Karkat shuts his laptop and goes to put his other belongings away. 

“So uh, same time tomorrow?” Dave asks hopefully.

Karkat sighs heavily. “Fucking…. fine, suit yourself. Same time tomorrow. Just lighten up on the questions, jesus.” 

Dave smiles as he watches him walk away from the desk. Baby steps. 

The cycle begins anew the next day.

For some reason, Karkat rolls his eyes when he sees him but doesn’t argue this time. Such a small reaction shouldn’t cause such a potent, converging flush in Dave’s abdomen but it does.

It makes him struggle for an innocent enough question, but it ends up rather presuming. “So uh, how do you track them?”

“Sorry, what?”

Dave falls back into his unassuming persona. “You know, hunt down bad guys and stuff?”

Karkat looks back down at his work. “It depends,” he says as he types something into a Google scholar search. “Gangs are harder because they kind of just do what they want. The Striders are a bit easier because they’re thieves for hire. We’ve got programs that can track, or at least guess, where they are going next.” 

“So what, are you like on call twenty four seven?”

Karkat nods. “Yep, and it sucks just as much as you think it does.”

“Huh,” Dave says with some genuine surprise, and then his face turns to a slow grin he can’t really control. “Who are the Striders?”

The agent frowns and his fingers lift off the keyboard for a second. “God fucking dammit, here I go running my fucking mouth again. Do you realize some of the shit you’ve seen by now could get me fired?”

Dave holds out two placating hands. “Not gonna tell anyone dude, I promise. Just happen to be an interested…. Lay individual.”

Karkat shakes his head, for probably the tenth time that day. “They’re just a pair of thieves I’m assigned to.”

“What are they like?”

“....Slippery.” 

Dave strains himself to peer out of the corner of his eye at Karkat’s expression, and boy does he not miss the way his lip curves up and brows set further down. 

_What’s he thinking of?_ The flash in the agent’s eyes at Dave’s question begs many answers that he realizes he’s desperate to hear. He wants to hear what Karkat has to say about him. And he’s sure he will, eventually. 

 

—

Getting Karkat to react becomes something of a game, in both personas. 

It’s almost obsessive, the amount of thought Dave puts into new lines to drop around the agent. 

He sends a warehouse plunging into darkness, distracting Vantas while Dirk is off successfully securing their loot. “Turn these lights on like it’s me,” he calls, a flirty challenge. His heat signature tech flashes down below, signaling Karkat’s reaction. He watches the agent’s state of arousal from afar through the doppler ultrasound function, and leans over the overhead railing he’s safely perched on to look down at him. 

Is it adrenaline that gets him off? The chase? Guns? 

Why is he like this, and most of all why is he trying to hide it? The guy is in a constant state of clamping down every part of him. Dave is a little bit terrified of what Karkat is like completely uninhibited. 

He’s seen hints of the Real Karkat so far, who snaps at his librarian persona and has intense physical reactions to the thief’s taunts. But it feels like each time Dave has to pry it out of him.

Dave savors it every time. He wants to see the real version of this man. He wants to see him _react_. 

On another job he shoves Karkat into a metal shipping container and closes the door. Karkat, ever the image of working competence, immediately readies to fight him despite the fact that he can’t see shit. Dave appreciates the agent’s audacity. Well, he’d always appreciated that bit. It just makes the fact that Dave knows his little secret so much sweeter. And in moments like this, well, Dave only wishes the glasses came with a screenshot function. 

Something to ask Dirk about, then. 

“You wanna dance in the dark with me, honey?” Dave throws at him. Sometimes he worries he’ll forget what voice he’s supposed to use where-- but now he can hear how much deeper his voice is, echoing in the container. He’s safe, and Karkat doesn’t, and won’t, ever have a clue. 

Work has never been so interesting, it’s almost like all these jobs were starting to get boring. And they had. It was always the same. Or it had been the same. 

Steal the thing, get paid, blah blah blah. At least he doesn’t have to deal with Bro’s bullshit anymore. 

Those had been wild days. 

He remembers Bro being like this with people. It wasn’t weird until he apparently murdered them and moved on to the next one. 

Dave is pretty sure he’s not going to murder Vantas so he’s probably in the clear with all this. 

He takes advantage of the dark in that moment to slap Vantas’ ass. It reminds him to call him Vant-ass more often. 

One evening, Karkat is standing in front of Dave in a lobby and boy, does he look tired.

But oh, Dave knows just how much his body is singing otherwise. If only Karkat knew how well Dave could read him physically like this. His angered expression is only a facade, his every _limb_ screaming arousal. 

It’s just so damn fascinating. The curiosity burns within him, getting hotter almost every day. 

It’s the agent’s polar facets that finally break him. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just excited to see me?” Dave calls across the room. 

He savors how Karkat completely freezes and gapes at him as the words hit him. It makes for an easy escape that evening.

When Dave next sees Karkat back in the library, the agent is distracted. 

Dave can’t help himself. “You seem a little off today,” he comments. 

He watches something that might be flush run through the agent as his face contorts and resets in a quick second. “I’m fine,” Karkat growls. Dave sighs internally that he can’t read him physiologically when he’s this version of Dave. 

“Aw nothing new with your agent stuff?”

Karkat rolls his eyes, it's practically a reflex with every ridiculous thing Dave says to him. 

“Come on man, you know I’m here for you,” Dave tries then. 

Karkat huffs and leans back. “Alright. Fine. Yeah. It is work... No, it’s not just work. It’s the fucking Striders.”

Dave’s eyebrows shoot up and he has to restrain himself from splitting into a full on grin. 

Karkat continues. “Well, it’s just one of them this time. Or. It has been. I… I think.” 

_Finally_. Dave hangs on to every word. “Did something happen with him?”

“No!” Karkat says, way too quickly. “No, uh, they just keep getting away. I don’t know how they do it,” he sighs and rubs his eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Dave frowns then. “I don’t know about that, I’d like to think we were friends and all now.”

“Friends,” Karkat scoffs. “Yeah, sure, we’re _friends_.”

It’s absolutely sarcasm but Dave has a role to play here. He thumps Karkat on the back and has to keep himself from taking a full handful of the agent’s hair. “I knew you’d come around eventually!” 

Karkat leans forward and snorts but doesn’t say anything. 

It’s little victories, and they add up.

Dave continues to make a point to run into their FBI friends, much to the aggravation of Dirk. But fuck it-- they hadn’t got caught yet, they had better tech that prevented them from getting caught, and, well, they were pros. 

Dave had been sent to climb through airways and small spaces helping Bro since he was a tiny asshole, this was his life, and he’s pretty damn sure he’d be fine no matter what. Dirk is a bit more anxious about it all, but anxiety has always been Dirk’s thing. 

Plus, Dirk had been acting more than shady lately. Their weekly meetings get shoved to online interaction, he’s distracted on jobs. Something malfunctions and Dirk somehow doesn’t fix it between projects. 

That’s what really concerns Dave. 

When Dave finally makes a point to figure out what’s going on, he doesn’t like what he finds. He’s pretty sure Dirk already knows what Dave has been up to in his free time-- there’s little Dirk doesn’t like to know about his whereabouts (“Just in case,” Dirk says.) Dave knows he needs to talk to him about it eventually-- but for now he’s got Vantas to focus on. 

Karkat does indeed, eventually, open up to Dave a little, more and more. Dave doesn’t know why but he’s sure happy about it, the strange persistence with which he’s spent time around the agent paying off. He learns little tidbits about Karkat’s life, like his partner Jake, and what his schedule is like. He does seem somewhat lonely. Karkat sidesteps when Dave asks him why he prefers working in a public space. He also sidesteps when Dave asks him exactly why he’s writing. 

It’s a momentous occasion when Karkat brings up the Striders without any prompting from Dave. He also realizes that he’s earned something rather special out of the agent: trust. At least he thinks it’s trust. Not that he hasn’t listened in on Karkat’s coffee meetings with his friend or read any of his outgoing messages to learn that Karkat doesn’t talk about work to anyone save for his coworkers. 

So it’s trust, right? 

Out of someone so otherwise goddamn uptight, it has to be. Dave doesn’t know what else it could be. 

Dave is sitting and looking at something on his phone while Karkat works when the agent’s head falls forward into his hands. 

Dave looks up over his glasses at him. “Sup,” he says, a little too deeply, and then coughs to cover it up. 

Karkat doesn’t seem to notice, but he does sigh and rub at his eyes. “You know how I told you about the Striders?”

Dave sits up straight so fast he’s shocked he doesn’t scare Vantas where he’s sitting. “Uh, yeah.” To say the least, he knows. 

Karkat inspirates heavily before speaking again, still refusing to look at Dave. “Listen you can’t tell anyone about this, but I swear to god I must be broken. I shouldn’t be in this line of work. Something about me likes being in the field too goddamn much, and it’s _wrong_ , okay? It’s wrong. And…. and I swear one of them knows that and he’s trying to make my life absolute hell over it.”

Dave pauses, for maybe the first time in his life absolutely at a loss for words. “ _What?_ ” he says, completely breathless now. 

Karkat leans forward and puts his chin on his clenched fists, squeezing his eyes shut. “Goddammit it. I shouldn’t have said any of that. What fucking is it about you?” he says and opens his eyes again, not before muttering something that sounds like, “Little puppy-dog asshole.” 

When Dave finally finds his words again he tries to ask Karkat once more, who threatens to never speak to him again if he brings it up. 

\---

For Dave, it doesn’t get better, now that he knows more of the truth. When he thinks about Karkat’s admittances that the Striders were getting to him, that Dave was getting to him… it drives him over some edge he didn’t realize he was hovering over.

And thinking about the agent’s harsh full body flushes, and how Karkat feels about them has him sitting on the edge of his bed agonizing over it. The truth of it all. 

Agonizing, as in touching himself until he’s so furiously aroused he just tips over the precipice. 

He also gets lost in thoughts of Karkat obsessing about Dave on his cases, how he probably has every possible hint about him memorized, would probably recognize Dave’s voice if he ever slipped up his persona. Has Karkat ever deliberated how much he weighs? _A hundred and seventy-eight pounds._ How old he is? _Twenty-seven._ His hobbies? _Watching you, pretty agent boy._

He’d watched Karkat from afar enough times while he’d been on these cases to know it’s something about the adrenaline, the excitement, that makes him this way.

Dave knows now that he’s into it, otherwise it wouldn’t happen. Dave also doesn’t know why he’s so fascinated. It really must be that he’s learned something about the agent that he knows no one else must know-- that well kept, shameful secret. Not so shameful in Dave’s opinion. 

And now he _knows_ Karkat is ashamed of it. 

A plan starts to take form.

Dave’s going to push that agent to the edge along with him. 

“I need to run an errand,” Dave says when they land in the attic before making their way down into the mansion’s gallery. 

“An _errand_? We’re on a fucking job!” Dirk says and offloads the pinch bomb from the bag.

“Yeah, well, you owe me one,” Dave says and doesn’t elaborate. Their little talk from the other day is still a bit fresh and he knows it. 

Dirk stares at him from across the bench. Dave can imagine the tight look on his face from under the mask. “Just be quick, I’m not interested in any close calls today. Not anymore.”

Dave fist pumps the air and jogs out of there. 

He’s got a one Karkat Vantas to teach a lesson to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> identity shenanigans are ridiculous I stg
> 
> some more art from my dear papaya [here!](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/129700) <3


	6. Tonight You Are Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thought I heard you call my name_   
>  _Thought that I could take the blame_   
>  _If you could have it all, why do you want me?_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afXCSr3ycwg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh yes, we finally get into the aftermath

**Present Day**

Jake reaches out to rouse Dirk. His hand is floating over Dirk’s arm, he is so close he can feel the heat of his body. 

Jake pauses, hearing a sudden intake of breath from Dirk, and waits as it eases again into the steady sound of sleep. 

It was kind enough for Dirk to even be there, because he’d promised Jake he would be. Jake wonders if he stayed up waiting for him and just fell asleep. 

It’s so dear a thought, and all Jake can think about is how much he doesn’t deserve this thoughtful, patient man slumbering before him. 

He doesn’t, especially now. 

He pulls away and leans back. He should shower.

He rises to do that, and considers waking Dirk and what he’ll say to him the whole time, but he reasons to do so at such an hour would be cruel. His thoughts are still scattered, and something about pulling Dirk into bed with him after that other night did truly feel wrong. 

(Oh, what even did the word _wrong_ mean anymore.) 

He hopes to wake up early, maybe surprise Dirk before they’re both off to work that Monday morning— they’d done it before, making pancakes at the edge of sunrise. Jake has a flash memory of kissing syrup off of Dirk’s lips and it deflates him.

Jake sets an early alarm, but when he wakes Dirk is gone. He’s up rather early, usually he’s the one lingering behind, making Jake a bit late to his post. 

It hits him like a straight punch to the gut. He’s alone now. The guilt hangs low in his chest and he’s filled with the knowledge that something happened and he can never speak of it again. The silence invokes a visceral loneliness Jake had not been used to as of late. 

Seeing and speaking to Dirk would have been a comfort, to know that he was still there. 

Dirk can never, ever know the terrible thing Jake did.

Jake collapses into the couch where Dirk had been sleeping, disappointed to find it cold. Dirk must have left a while ago. There’s maybe a hint of his scent on the couch and Jake sinks back into it. 

Why had he done that, the other night? He’s not… violent, or indecent like that. And he loves Dirk. He knows it. Was it even betrayal? It wouldn’t be, would it, if Strider really, truly deserved it? 

In the heat of the moment, it had made sense to him. But that’s always the excuse, isn’t it? 

He can already feel the thoughts of doubt worming into him, burying in and staying. When he sees Dirk again that guilt is going to hit him with a crash.

Jake had prided himself on that, knowing he couldn’t hurt a fly unless they deserved it, even in his line of work. The action he’d used to injure Strider’s dignity was something he could never do to someone who didn’t _deserve_ it. 

He considers for one flash of a second telling Dirk something happened, and then immediately tosses it away. Dirk would never speak to him again with the knowledge of the inhumane, absolutely unfaithful thing he did. And at what cost? He’d had Strider in the palm of his hand, could have torn off that mask at any second. 

And he threw it all away in an imploding, weak attempt at dominance. Jake was truly the pathetic one here.

This leads to another thought-- when he sees Strider again, he’s going to look on him with eyes that remember, and they will not be friendly. This case will never be the same again.

His thoughts swing back to Dirk. Oh, Dirk. So terribly precious. And he betrayed him in that coarse fashion like it was nothing. The remorse weighs heavily on his shoulders. 

This is ridiculous. He’s got to stop sitting on this couch and moping. He will see Dirk later, will hold him in his arms on this very couch and take him to their— his, Jake’s bed, where he belongs. 

And there he’ll show Dirk how important he is. 

That night had been a fluke. That’s it. All his focus is going to Dirk now, damn the Striders. 

Jake gets up and readies for work, but not before texting Dirk and telling him he missed out on something delicious. He’s a little disappointed that Dirk hadn’t let him know he was heading out early, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

Next time Dirk stays over Jake won’t let him leave so swiftly, since he’ll be wrapped up in his arms when he wakes. 

-

 **7:45 am**  
_Jake English_ :  
good morning! you missed out on a splendid meal this morning. 

He doesn’t hear back from Dirk, even farther into the day. He sends another text.

 **10:00 am**  
_Jake English_ :  
busy with your office hours i see! 

Dirk always jokes about how much time he’s got when students don’t see him, it’s unnatural for Jake to not hear from him by now. He caves and sends a third.

 **10:34 am:**  
_Jake English_ :  
well shoot me a message when you have a mo’, don’t mind what it is, smoke signals or whatnot, as long as it’s from you ;)

He’s then berating himself for this absurd round of juvenile message tag he’s playing with his boyfriend. He’s going to make Dirk suspicious with all this...

Dirk is probably suspicious in the first place! Whole weekends away, mysterious bruises when he returns…

Jake shudders at his desk. He sends one final text. 

**10:36 am**  
_Jake English_ :  
i’d also love to know when i can expect you later!

And then he finally lets his brainspace deal with another pressing fact: how absolutely pear-shaped the mission had gone last weekend. 

Karkat is usually surly. Learning the subtle signs that show whether he’s happy or sad or needs coffee has been a delicate dance Jake learned over their time working together. How one can possibly avoid emoting at all while still maintaining a volume of three times normal is beyond Jake, but he’s been done with trying to figure that out for awhile. 

To say that this is the worst mood he’s seen Vantas in since they first started working together would be an understatement. Karkat is seething. And jumpy. He almost knocked over his coffee when Jake stood up too fast.

“You alright there, chap?” Jake finally asks, an innocent enough question after an already too long and tense morning.

“Not in the mood for your bullshit today, English.”

Jake sighs. It was worth a shot. “Well. Hm. Alright then. Are you ready for the meeting?”

“What, the one where our boss is going to chop our heads off and serve them to the department on sticks to show how badly we failed? I’m well fucking aware, but thanks for triple reminding me of that highlighted shitshow about to go down on my calendar.”

Ah, Karkat. Always has a way with words. 

Jake is also not particularly looking forward to this meeting. Well, he’s actually dreading it. He already knows how it’s going to go down— Waste of government resources, shady timelines about what happened, failure to produce any results or even prevent the theft. His entire morning had been dedicated to paperwork hashing over it. 

Jake also has an inkling that Karkat had another altercation of sorts with the other Strider, who had bizarrely taken to him in a way. Well, he appeared to be singling Karkat out in the way Jake felt the other Strider was singling out himself. 

The meeting goes as poorly as Jake expects it to. Some distinct words are said, the entire floor hears it. Not like they all hadn’t known anyways. 

He and Karkat slump back to their desks. They’ve been asked to split their time between the Strider case and the Lord Caliborn Gang, another nationally pressing issue with thankfully many operatives working on it simultaneously. 

Yet while the Strider case was antagonizing, it wasn’t life threatening like the LCG issue was. 

The head boss, Caliborn, which Jake felt was an odd name for a fellow who apparently was not born anywhere near California, had managed to build a sprawling drug empire, covering the states from coast to coast and from the bottom of Central America up into the icy edges of Alaskan soil. 

And despite how large his empire was, those who betrayed him ended up like chum with few exceptions. 

Of course the largest cocaine running gang would have multiple operatives working on it, but leads were harder than finding needles in haystacks, because the needles had guns pointed to their heads and their loved ones, so to speak. 

Taking out Caliborn would mean dissolving the empire to its bits and draining the states of its main source of powdered snow. 

In short, Jake did indeed want that feather in his cap, but to what end he was willing to procure it he was not sure. 

At least now he could worry about the Strider case a little bit less. He wonders if his relief comes from knowing he won’t have to interact with that one half of the duo, but then he tells himself it’s because it was a stressful case and he’s glad for a break from it. 

However, Karkat is not so easily swayed. Before this last weekend, it seemed Karkat was far less passionate about the Strider duo than Jake was. 

Some switch had flipped, because back in their office Karkat is a bit vocal about the new direction of their work. 

“I don’t care what our boss says, I’m seeing this fucking case through ‘til their arrest,” he mutters at Jake. 

“Pardon?” Jake says, at first unsure about what he’s referring too. 

“I said I want the Striders unmasked by the end of this month and I’m doing fuckall until then,” Karkat practically yells. 

Right. “We’re been ordered to focus on the LCG,” Jake says. 

Karkat actually stares at him, eyebrows drawn in with surprise. “Since when have you not been thirsty to bag that Strider?” 

_Thirsty_. Is that what Jake had sounded like before, talking about the thief duo? 

Jake shakes his head. “I think a break from the case would be beneficial for both of us. I’m surprised to see you so... fired up about them.”

Karkat opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something and then shuts it, considering his words before he speaks them.. “They just…. They just have it coming.”

Jake watches him, and has the fleeting sense again that something too happened with Karkat. 

He’ll never speak of it, the man is wound tighter than a steel cable.

“Divide and conquer, then. I’ll look into the LCG and you keep on with the Striders.”

And it’s a done deal. 

\---

 **4:00 pm**  
_Dirk Lalonde_ :  
Can’t. Something came up with Dave. Maybe tomorrow.

It’s all he sends for the evening. 

\---

Jake waffles the entire night about calling Dirk. His mind wanders through his evening exercise, wondering if Dirk suspects something, or if maybe Dirk had…. No, there’s no way. Dirk wouldn’t. 

He’s just projecting. He knows better than to do that. 

Instead, he spends the rest of the evening carding through sources and various articles on the LCG for any fresh leads. Before his evenings with Dirk he was generally much more focused on his job, spending most of his evenings like this. 

His chosen profession did require a lot of his time. He was on call twenty four-seven, and was generally expected to show up at the scene of a crime at the drop of a hat. When he’d met Dirk, someone who understood that schedule and never made an issue of it, he felt like he’d struck gold. 

Victory was coming home to Dirk’s arms. How could he have ever forgotten? 

The kind of schedule he’d had did require a good bit of trust, and that once sturdy foundation between them was now well and truly shaken. At least on Jake’s end. But he won’t let Dirk know that. 

Dirk knows how important he is. And if he doesn’t, Jake wants to let him know. 

**8:37 pm**  
_Jake English_ :  
Sad I won’t get to see you tonight, but looking forward to tomorrow ;)

Dirk doesn’t respond. Jake tosses and turns when he sleeps. 

—-

 **9:43 am**  
_Jake English_ :  
Just taking a moment to say good morning handsome!

 **2:26 pm**  
_Jake English_ :  
Dirk?

 **4:58 pm**  
_Dirk Lalonde_ :  
Hey. Still getting slammed with some stuff. Definitely tomorrow though. 

**5:05 pm**  
_Jake English_ :  
Holding you to it, love 

—

Dirk is sticking the key in the lock and Jake sprints to open it for him. Dirk stands there holding the key out, looks up at Jake, frowns, and pockets the keys while shuffling inside. 

Jake instantly pulls him into his arms once the door is shut behind him. “It’s been far too long since I got to do this.” He buries his nose in Dirk’s hair and breathes in his scent, an instant comfort.

Dirk tightens up momentarily and relaxes. “It was like five days,” he says dryly. 

Jake chuckles. “Exactly. Far too long.” He pulls away so that he can kiss Dirk but Dirk has already slipped away and is setting his bag on the ottoman in the living room. 

Jake follows him. “Can I get you anything?”

He looks down at his hands and realizes they are shaking, and hopes that Dirk says no. 

Dirk shakes his head and falls into the couch. “No.” 

Jake almost sighs with relief, however he’s not eased at all by Dirk’s short answer. He’s not been used to Dirk like this. He remembers how flighty Dirk was when they first starting seeing each other… but as of late things had fallen into a much more comfortable rhythm. 

“Alright, mind if I pop down there with you?”

“It’s your couch, Jake.” 

He smiles and sets himself down next to Dirk, who appeared to be fumbling with the long sleeve ends of his sweater. He slides his phone into his pocket and can’t seem to meet Jake’s eyes. 

Jake feels a twinge of concern, probably exaggerated by his own stress. “Dirk? Is everything alright, sweetheart?”

Dirk reaches up and almost absentmindedly runs a hand along the edge of his own jaw. Jake peers at him as he does, waiting. 

Dirk stills before he speaks. “What happened on your case?”

Jake is taken aback. “What— Where’s this coming from?” Dirk usually never wants to hear about them. 

Dirk pauses, still looking off in the distance. “I dunno. Just uh,” he murmurs, and then actually turns to look at Jake straight on, “Wondering.” 

Jake scoots closer to Dirk, hoping to pull him into his lap. “Oh come on now, I thought we didn’t—“

“Jake.”

Jake is struck still by the pure unusual forcefulness behind the word. “I’m not sure of what you’re asking me,” he hedges, honestly somewhat lost by this conversational direction, and pauses inches from taking Dirk into his embrace.

Dirk is closed off, avoiding his eyes again. “I think that’s a pretty clear question.”

“You want to hear about the case?” Jake asks with heavy incredulity. 

Dirk nods sharply but doesn’t speak again.

Jake leans back slightly and clears his throat, scrambling for words. Of all the people in the world he would want to rehash this one weekend case away with, Dirk would be the last. It’s hard to look at him now as he mentally drags himself back through the weekend. He can tell Dirk the main sequence of events and leave out a few choice details, right? 

“Alright. Well. I suppose we tracked those two, the um, the Striders,” suddenly it’s so hard to say their name, “and learned of a mark on an old Vermeer- next to priceless. And you know how these things go, it’s either in the dead of night or on the busiest afternoon in broad daylight… and they were certainly attempting the latter.” His voice definitely does not shake as he dives into the story. 

He looks out of the side of his eye at Dirk, who is nodding but still looks distant. Jake bites his lip for a second and then continues on, heart contorting. 

“And well, you know Karkat, he and I were just... enjoying our time before we got word of their sighting… and of course they got the drop on us, again.” His voice lacks the usual pent up bitterness for the thief duo, instead Jake just sounds hollow. “They had a uh, bomb of sorts. Took out all out the power except their own gadgets within a half mile, would you believe that!”

Dirk sighs, maybe snorts softly, but he’s still staring off remotely. 

Jake continues. “So we took off after them. In retrospect, there were a lot of things that could have… avoided all that. But uh…” He scrambles for words. At this point in the story the events got messy. “We went to the gallery, where we were told the Vermeer would be.” What does he say next? He can feel his heart beginning to race as the lie begins to form on his lips. 

“And then what?” Dirk asks, finally turning and looking at him.

And so Jake looks at Dirk. Really looks at him, searching his face for an indication of what brought on this request to regale his weekend of failure. 

Dirk’s eyes are staring, no, boring into Jake’s. Not exactly accusing or angry, but oh, there could very well be a hint of it there. Jake doesn’t really know what to make of it. 

But he considers his reply, searching Dirk’s face almost frantically for an sign of what combination of words he should use. 

He doesn’t figure out the words, but he does comes to a conclusion: he could never hurt Dirk. 

He forces himself to hold the intensity of that gaze when he responds. 

“When we got to the gallery the painting was already gone, and the thieves with it,” Jake says.

Dirk blinks and something passes over his face. He leans back and looks away from Jake again. “So you didn’t even see them?”

“Not even for a second,” Jake responds with as much solidity as he can muster. “I wasn’t going to tell you all about, well, how badly things went. But love if you want to know about my work I’ll always tell you as much as I can. It was a… rough case.” 

Dirk’s gaze is pointed away from him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything else.”

It’s clearly not. “Is everything alright?” Jake itches to ask if something happened with Dirk, the way he’s glancing around and looking like he’ll take off at any moment. Was it the long weekend away, the complete lack of communication throughout? Does Dirk suspect him of cheating? 

It would be a rightful accusation. 

Maybe Jake’s hesitant messages made him flighty again. Like those first few dates, at how much Dirk would squirm when Jake got too into certain details about his work. 

Dirk’s not answering him. Jake tries again. “Love, I’m getting an inkling that something’s amiss and I haven’t the faintest what it is.”

Dirk sighs. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He rubs at his eyes and then tilts his head to look a Jake, lips pursed in a thin line.

Jake scoots over and wraps his arms around Dirk. 

And maybe he’s crazy, but he swears that Dirk _flinches_. Which makes absolutely not a single lick of sense. Jake writes it off as his own transient anxiety.  
If Dirk says they’re fine they must be, and if they aren’t… he’ll find out sooner than later. 

“Alright then, I don’t know what’s got you like this but no more talk about work tonight. Just you and me, yes?” 

Dirk nods but doesn’t say anything, still tense. His hand slides around Jake, and seem to float over his back before finally resting on it. He doesn’t relax.

Jake lifts a hand to Dirk’s face to kiss his cheek. Dirk remains unyielding, even as Jake presses his lips to Dirk’s, something he’d been waiting for almost a week to do, and Dirk responds to his light kiss with much less enthusiasm than Jake is used to. 

And then Jake just holds him, hand slowly stroking his cheek. It feels unnatural, terribly mechanical, the way that Dirk stays rigid beside him. Dirk usually just melts into him, like they’re one cohesive being. 

“What happened with Dave?” he asks, not intending to be invasive at all. “Must have been pretty important to keep you away from me for so long!”

He swears he feels Dirk go even more stiff, which he didn’t think was possible. Dirk sighs or huffs or some combination of both. “Yeah, you know how family can be.” 

Jake doesn’t really, but he nods anyways. Could that be the source of his distress? Something unfortunate could have happened, and he wasn’t about to pry. He waited a few moments, to see if Dirk would elaborate, and he didn’t.

The conversation doesn’t improve. Dirk answers with short responses. Eventually Jake offers for them to turn in early, and Dirk jumps at the suggestion. 

The tight core in Dirk follows them up into the bedroom, where he seemingly continues to edge away from any of Jake’s embraces. Jake had… assumed there would be some form of amorous activities, but finds himself surprised that Dirk doesn’t offer anything at all. He thinks he deserves that, and then tells himself he’s just been spoiled with such an often enthusiastically giving partner, but he can’t come to expect that as regular. (Had he not been giving enough?) The anxious thoughts are ceaseless, and seem to grow in number as the night wears on. It’s not pleasant, as he doesn’t consider himself prone to anxiety. 

Whatever is hovering inside of Dirk never comes out. He’s regularly so tactile, almost demanding of Jake’s attention, but that night he keeps himself inches, maybe whole feet away. 

And as Dirk lies distantly on the very edge of the shared bed, having claimed to be too warm, Jake listens to his breathing. He’s a quiet sleeper, but he watches the steady rise and fall of Dirk’s chest and wonders if he’s actually sleeping. He runs through the last two weeks of his memory… seeing no exact issues arising between them that he could have foreseen. Maybe it was something personal Dirk wasn’t willing to talk about yet. 

Dirk has always been quiet, Jake knows that. But this was different, a palpable distance Jake has no explanation for, and didn’t want to begin to wrap his head around in the case that it wasn’t a family or related issue. And maybe it wasn’t a distance, and Jake was just assuming things. Seeing things that weren’t actually there. He wasn’t really sure how to handle that idea- that it was just the aftereffects of that case, his mistake. 

Maybe the best thing for him would be to focus on Dirk for the time being. 

Jake rises early, before sunrise, and is relieved to find that Dirk is still there. 

He does make them breakfast- simple eggs and toast, as workdays aren’t generally ideal for large sugar loads, and prepares coffee. Jake likes to think of it as stolen time between them, a sure moment they can share despite his often long nights. Dirk slinks down in the chair across from him, shades already on, and Jake is not sure if the dim shadows under his eyes are from the dim morning light or if he slept poorly the night before. 

And then he doesn’t eat. 

He does drink the coffee, Jake knows that weakness at the very least. “Love, won’t you have a bite? You’ll be famished.”

Dirk purses his lips into an uncomfortable line that dissipates as soon as it appears. “Not really hungry, I can get something later,” he responds gruffly. He hesitates. “Thanks though, you didn’t have to.” 

Jake smiles warmly at him and reaches a hand across the table. “Of course I did, love. I enjoy being here for you. I…” he trails off from his careless words and Dirk peers at him through his lenses. He shuts his mouth, and opens it to try again. “I’ll clean up, don’t you worry bout a thing,” he says instead. 

At times before this morning, before leaving, Dirk would slide into Jake’s lap, and kiss him softly, hands tangled in Jake’s hair that he would have to fix immediately after his departure. 

Today, Jake has to chase him down instead, and he feels a strange lightning strike of panic as Dirk finally turns to leave for the day. “Wait!” Jake says impulsively. Dirk turns to look at him, with a measure of surprised consternation in his eyebrows. “I was wondering if I could visit you at work sometime? You know I’ll always steal a moment for you.” 

The lines in Dirk’s face deepen. “I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he says firmly. When he speaks Jake hears something almost like confusion. “I’ll see you later... Jake.” 

Jake doesn’t get a chance for him to elaborate because he’s already gone. 

As he goes through the motions of preparing for the rest of his day he considers what just happened- was something amiss, or was he just worked up? He’s not used to carrying this anxiety, everything else he’s ever done has been performed with confidence unlike this. 

At least for now, he has the confidence that he will see Dirk, and that they will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the formatting is okay?
> 
> I have no clue what I'm doing, but thanks for your patience while I navigate this morally grey mess I've created


	7. Hellbent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I've been hellbent, baby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X79sXBYYgIQ)
> 
> [Hellbent on making you love me too](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X79sXBYYgIQ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it seems that tumblr is imploding so I thought I would do a nice thing and drop this little number

“Hey,” a voice says behind Karkat. 

He jerks forward onto the table, flattening his palms out and throwing his head over his shoulder as he stands halfway. 

His… acquaintance, Dave, is peering back at him, eyes at the very least amused. Fucker. 

“Jesus fucking christ give a guy a warning next time,” Karkat mutters and sits back down. He’s been on edge, and he doesn’t want to consider why. Something about this previous weekend did something to him and now he carries uncertainty along with him everywhere he goes, as if he was scared by what was around the corner. Which was ridiculous, there was nothing to be worried about. 

For a _normal_ person at least. 

For Karkat, that kind of agitation came with the price of certain reactions he had no control over, and now it was worse than ever. As if this one case had taken all his efforts for years and toppled them over. Building a stony exterior such as he had took _work_. 

Karkat had no choice but to show up to work, and struggled to not show the signs of how deeply shaken he was. He had to be reamed by his boss but that honestly paled in comparison to strange paranoia that had struck up: the fleeting suspicion that Strider was keeping under closer tabs on him than he had previously thought. 

Or worse, that his incident the other night would be used against him. 

“Haven’t seen you for a few days,” Dave comments and sits himself down in the chair next to Karkat. Such had been habit, and Karkat had accepted Dave’s complete obliviousness to personal time and boundaries long ago. 

Karkat flushes as he remembers. He’d purposefully taken time off from his project to work at home, hoping that maybe for once he’d feel better within the walls of his own place. He also mostly didn’t want to interact with anyone, especially after the other night. 

Inevitably, he felt claustrophobic trying to work in his own space, and finally several days into the work week he’d thrown in the towel and just gone to the goddamn library he was so dependent on. 

Karkat doesn’t have any snark in him today. Any of it would just hit a brick wall, either way. “Needed a breather,” he mutters. 

“You? Taking a break? Since when?” Dave teases him. 

Karkat rolls his eyes, keying in another online scholar search. “Had a busy weekend.” 

“Oh yeah, you mentioned you were going away for something. How did it go?” Dave must have absolutely no clue how irritating his presence is right now. He never has a clue. 

Dave probably can’t see it, but Karkat’s face almost entirely crumples in on itself in frustration before quickly resetting. “It was fucking _terrible_ ,” he spits at him undeservingly. And then he regrets it. Karkat had told himself he wouldn’t show how messed up he was over it, and look at him now. 

Dave pauses uncomfortably, and Karkat can even feel that even if he’s not looking at him. “Uh, jeez. You seem a little worked up,” Dave unhelpfully observes aloud. 

No fucking shit. He can feel anger and those memories beginning to bubble up, and if he lets it grow too much he’ll begin to cross wires and he doesn’t want that right now. So he breathes in, holds it, breathes out, and somehow manages to answer Dave like a civilized person.

“Listen. Dave. It was a complete failure. I know you like to know, but I’d appreciate it if you let me spare you the details.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. Nothing interesting happened at all? You seem a little… Wound up.” Dave observes. “Anything go down with those hm, Striders, right?” 

Fuck. Karkat wants to snap at him. And it would be undeserved. The guy seems to mean well. It’s just that he’s got as much tact as a sack of potatoes, and right now he’s prodding at a particularly raw spot. 

Dave loves to hang around for scraps of info about Karkat’s work, and for some reason, Karkat indulges him. Despite his naturally large build the guy doesn’t seem to get out much, but something about his staunch determination to hang around had wormed in and charmed Karkat. Succinctly put, he had embarrassingly come to look forward to the companionship he lacked in almost all other facets of his life. Not that he would admit that to himself, though. 

Karkat feels his skin flushing again as the memory of being tied to that chair hits him again, triggered by Dave’s question. He probably couldn’t frown any deeper if he tried. 

He hadn’t told anyone yet what had happened to him. Mainly because it was almost haunting him. No one had ever lain him so bare like that before. 

Strider had yanked out the most shameful part of Karkat until he couldn’t ignore anymore like he always had. The finality of knowing that Strider, a criminal, was practically sole holder to his most humiliating truth twisted his stomach. It made him want to hunt him down that much more. 

Karkat realizes he still hasn’t responded to Dave, dwelling again on his situation. He sighs heavily. “The Striders. Yeah. They got away, pretty fucking par for the course.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time.”

Karkat snorts. “Sure.” 

The afternoon wears on unremarkably. Karkat isn’t intending to stay long. He’s got renewed determination to work from home on some of the more classified research that’s actually relevant to his work. 

But then something different happens. His phone lights up with a text alert from a number he doesn’t recognize, and one single word. 

_1-323-117-3496_ :  
yo.

Karkat squints at it and then decides it must be a wrong number, already moving to put his phone away. 

They send another message.

_1-323-117-3496_ :  
cmon man i just wanna talk

It must be a wrong number. 

_1-323-117-3496_ :  
i really enjoyed my time with you last saturday ;)

Karkat pauses. It must be a coincidence. He glances to the side at Dave, who appears to be scrolling through his own phone and waiting for his shift to be done, or for Karkat to enlist his help. 

He looks back down at his phone, already with another message. 

_1-323-117-3496_ :  
i honestly can’t stop thinking about it

Okay now this is starting to get really weird. He should put this person out of their misery before it escalates. 

I THINK YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER

He hears a soft noise from Dave beside him and ignores it.

_1-323-117-3496_ :  
oh i know exactly who im talking to 

_1-323-117-3496_ :  
Karkat <3

 

Karkat’s blood turns to ice as he reads his name and the absurd heart next to it. 

With shaking fingers he blocks the number.

_1-323-117-3497_ :  
come on karkitty you’re smarter than this  
you can’t just block me you should know better by now  
i always get what i want 

Karkat sucks in a breath as the message comes from a different number. He immediately blocks it, but reading the words ‘i always get what i want’ does something strange to his stomach, a remnant sensation. He stares at his phone and waits to see if it worked, surroundings fading out as his respirations speed up. 

It doesn’t stick. 

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
come on karkatttttt  
here  
ill make you a deal

 

_… A deal?_

WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE TO OFFER ME?  
ALREADY BARGAINING FOR A SHORTER SENTENCE FOR AFTER I FIND YOU?  
IT’LL BE SOMEONE ELSES PROBLEM IF I DON’T KILL YOU FIRST. 

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
not sure how i feel about the killing part but your hands on me sure do sound nice 

Holy shit, this can’t be real. He doesn’t like the incandescent rage stirring with fear inside him. He hates that Strider has the upper hand on him now that he _knows_. 

And now he’s toying with him. 

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
seriously though. here’s the deal, agent vantas: if you can solve this puzzle for me ill hook up with you, i mean, hook you up with info about our next job

Karkat knows he should be running back to work, calling in someone to track the source of this number, but that would mean revealing this ridiculous chain of messages to someone….

Fuck this job. 

I DONT NEED YOUR HELP TO FIND YOU

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
were only found if we wanna be. you know that by now.  
but honestly i think it’s time to even the scales a little bit 

A notification flashes on his computer.

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
ive downloaded the first part of your little test 

IM NOT DOING THIS

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
i think you will, unless you want some certain classified information being, uh, disseminated

His veins turn to ice. No, this can’t be happening. This is the worst possible scenario he could have ever envisioned, he…. 

I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. IM NOT GOING TO DO YOUR STUPID TASKS

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
something tells me you will. you don’t know what i’ve got stored up in my glasses, i could be easily convinced to share it somewhere

I AM GOING TO KILL YOU. WHEN I TAKE OFF THAT MASK I WILL GOUGE OUT YOUR EYES AND STRANGLE YOU WITH YOUR OWN BELT.

_1-323-117-3498_ :  
sounds kinky. i like it.  
god speed vantas, i look forward to your results

Karkat tries texting the number again, only to find it disabled already. He realizes his breathing has become staggered and ragged, and he’s slumping in his chair. He recollects himself and slams the phone on the table, unable to continue hiding his facade and letting that roiling indirect anxiety bubble out for once. 

Dave makes a sound of surprise at the sound of his hand hitting the table but Karkat is out of fucks to give about him. 

He leans forward to assess whatever Strider sent him, cursor hovering over the attachment. He really really should bring this in to work… but again, Strider has him at an impasse. But he won’t let him win. Well… hm. He could just bring in just the attachment, it actually should be trackable. 

Maybe Strider is slipping. Maybe he can take advantage of this ridiculous scenario he’s being shoved into. 

He’s at least able to determine it’s not some crazy malware, and then throwing all caution and years of training to the wind, he opens the attachment. 

What he sees bewilders him, but he at least thinks he didn’t download a virus. 

“Whatcha got there?” Dave says next to him.

Karkat jumps again, having actually forgotten his presence while he stared at the screen pondering his options. 

“It’s nothing,” he lies quickly. “Some bullshit.” 

“Doesn’t look like bullshit.”

“Well it is.” Karkat clicks to hide it. He’s not going to play this game, no matter the stakes. 

“I dunno, can I look at it? Looks kind of familiar.”

Karkat purses his lips, and then sighs. “Yeah sure why not.” He leans back into his chair as Dave leans over his working area. That’s one habit he somehow has become endeared to: Dave’s complete lack of understanding about personal space. 

Dave adjusts his glasses and lowers his head to the screen. He makes pondering noise before tapping a finger on the side of laptop. “I know this cipher.” 

“There’s no way this is a cipher,” Karkat snaps, miffed that it actually probably is one and he didn’t recognize it straightaway. He’s supposed to know these.

“Well you probably wouldn’t think so because it’s not super common. It’s uh, a picture based rune system, I think. May I?”

Karkat inhales and holds it, considering his options. If Dave could help him solve this, it would prevent him from having to take it into work, and further having to explain to another soul what is going on. 

He breathes out and nods, coming to a conclusion. Dave gives him a small smile, a tiny action that Karkat is surprised to find comforting. Of all the shit people he has to deal with on a regular basis, he’s constantly surprised to find that Dave is a constant. Dave has never let him down. A strange loyalty he’d somehow earned. 

Dave pulls open a website and Karkat watches as he opens a programming application he already had on his computer. 

“Alright, the thing about this is finding the key. It could be a letter or number, or a word or multiple numbers. Any ideas? Usually it’s supposed to be shared between the sender and recipient, but something is telling me you don’t know.”

Karkat shakes his head. “I don’t know… unless he thinks I should know…”

“He?” Dave asks.

An icy dart of uncertainty hits Karkat’s chest. “It’s nothing, nobody, please stop fucking asking me about this.”

Dave is silent, just staring at him for a few seconds. “I didn’t…” he starts to say and stops.

Karkat sighs heavily. It had been undeserved. “Try… fuck. Try the number 69, I don’t know, it sounds like something he would do.” 

Dave snorts and grins but keys the number into the program. Karkat slumps down and casts his eyes to the floor. A few long seconds stretch out between them as the program runs before Karkat speaks again. “Something… happened. On my last Strider case.” He notices Dave nodding attentively in the periphery of his vision, but he thankfully doesn’t speak. 

It’s so hard to make the words come out. “He did something to me.”

He can’t look at Dave when he says it. It’s just so _humiliating_.

“He didn’t… he didn’t _hurt you_ , did he?” Dave says, aghast.

Karkat laughs dryly. “Not exactly.” 

“... what happened, then?”

He sighs. “It wasn’t exactly terrible but it wasn’t good either,” Karkat struggles to explain. 

“I’m getting a lot of mixed signals here,” Dave murmurs.

Karkat flusters. “Listen he _did_ something and I— I—- _fuck_.” He can’t make the words, but he wants to tell someone, maybe needs to. 

“He did something bad but you liked it,” Dave says softly, blessedly catching Karkat’s muddling drift. 

Karkat stills and looks up at Dave. “Yeah. Yeah… I. I liked it.”

The computer makes a noise as the program finishes running. Karkat doesn’t catch if his expression changed as Dave turns to face the screen again. The pictures have all been layered onto each other in a pattern making a letter, similar to the images used to test for colorblindness. An “N”.

Dave beams down at him. “Nice job, Karkat. Good call there.” 

Karkat is only distracted by the unexpected exuberance in his smile for half a second before scoffing and shaking his head. Of course Strider would make 69 the key. What an immature fuck. 

At least he can trust Dave. 

Dave immediately excuses himself to the bathroom and Karkat’s phone lights up the newfound silence with another message:

_1-323-127-3886_ :  
_well done, agent. hope you’re looking forward to the next one_

_xoxo, Strider_

 

—-

Jake feels lost. That’s the only way he can think to describe how he’s feeling. 

The tighter he squeezes, the more it feels like Dirk pulls away from him, like sand slipping through his fingers. 

He decides against visiting Dirk at work, deciding that to be a step much. He does, however, surprise Dirk with flowers. 

Dirk stands once more in his doorway, appearing both bewildered and consternated at his very appearance there. He stares down at the pile of deep red roses in his hands with an indecisive expression. Finally, he speaks. 

“What are these for?” 

Jake shrugs uncomfortably. It shifts through his whole body. “I realized I’d never bought you flowers, and what kind of boyfriend does that make me?” It’s a half truth- what sick irony is it that red roses can represent both love and apology? 

At the word _boyfriend_ Dirk seems to go even more stiff and uncomfortable. “Because that’s what we are, aren’t we,” he murmurs. 

Jake pulls him inside and closes the door behind him. “I’d sure like to think so,” he laughs. God, why is he being so... off. He needs to stop that. This is absurd. 

Dirk nods and goes to set up his computer at the table. The flowers are… possibly not so gently tossed onto a neighboring chair. Jake puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him around as soon as he’s put down his bag. 

“Love, is everything alright?” Jake asks when Dirk is facing him full on. Why does it feel like Dirk is leaning away from his touch? 

Dirk watches him, searching his face. With painful slowness, he only nods. 

“It just… well. It just seems something is amiss.” 

Dirk clears his throat. “Nothing wrong with me, you sure there isn’t something wrong with you?”

Jake isn’t sure what throws him off more- the wording, or the way that Dirk’s question feels pointed. 

_There is something wrong with me. There’s something very, very wrong with me,_ he wants to say. But he can’t.

Dirk can _never know_. 

“Not at all, dear,” he squeezes Dirk’s upper arm, right around his bicep, and pulls away to let him finish whatever he needed to. Jake is the one being squirrelly, and Dirk is sensing it. He needs to stop.

He sets himself to be more hands off for the week, and for the most part he manages to be, but it implodes that weekend when Dirk comes to stay. 

Jake has no immediate case obligations, which he thanks his lucky stars for because he can barely concentrate on a Strider file without becoming a stumbling mess. 

The night starts off as usual, with Dirk at the table working. Jake still thinks the air is tense but he can’t place it and doesn’t want to keep ruminating on it so he ignores it. He’s only partially distracted by a book when Dirk stands and slides into his lap, yanking Jake’s head forward and kissing him roughly. 

He’s not sure if he should be relieved or not, but he immediately drops the book and curls his arms around Dirk as he settles into his lap. 

However the kiss doesn’t become soft, Dirk only turns his head and presses in harder. 

Jake wants to sigh but he doesn’t, he only pushes Dirk off of him. It takes a surprising amount of force to wrench Dirk away from his body. 

Dirk doesn’t give him a chance to question anything, he’s already off his lap and in the doorway, looking at Jake with an unreadable expression. 

“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he says darkly and disappears into the dim hallway. 

Well then. 

Jake follows him curiously. “Dirk, love?” He says. 

He steps into the bedroom and walks toward the bed. 

Dirk exits shirtless from the bathroom and in a flash Jake is pinned to the bed with Dirk on top of him, kissing him with that same intensity from the kitchen. 

Jake sighs internally. Dirk never wants to take things as slow and sweet as he would like to. However he can’t shake the unease accompanying this situation.

As Dirk kisses him his hands wander down to start removing Jake’s clothes. It feels like ages since they’d touched like this. 

Jake, hoping to calm down whatever is striking Dirk, reaches down to help him, unbuttoning his shirt as Dirk makes quick work to shrug down his pants. 

Dirk removes the rest of his clothes but not all way, and flips over pulling Jake above him. 

He digs his nails into Jake’s back and pulls him closer to whisper in his ear. “Fuck me, Jake.” 

Jake inhales sharply. Yes, he can certainly oblige, but somehow he feels like it would be unwise. 

Dirk latches to his neck and Jake forgets a bit of his sensibilities, getting lost in the touch that he’d oddly missed so much. 

It’s not long before Dirk is turned over on his chest, open legged under Jake as he works him open. 

Dirk takes a tight fistful of the bedding when Jake finally pushes into him, shoves his mouth into the pillow so it swallows his cry. 

Jake pulls out hesitantly and thrusts back in. He watches Dirk’s response, the taut expanse of his back flexing up under him. 

Dirk rises up on to his elbows and cranes his head to look back at Jake. “Harder,” he says. 

Jake slows down, “Dirk…” he says uncomfortably. 

“ _Harder_.”

“Dirk, what’s…”

“I said, _harder_ , Jake,” Dirk growls at him, still clenching the bed.

“I… Dirk what’s gotten into you?” Jake pulls out fully. 

Dirk laughs weakly and lets his head fall forward into the bed. “Nothing, I don’t understand why this is so difficult for you.” It’s so cold for such an intimate situation.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jake murmurs and falls over to lay at Dirk’s side, threading a hand through his boyfriends hair and attempting to see his expression. 

“That won’t hurt me,” Dirk mutters, probably rolls his eyes. 

“Dirk, we’ve talked about this.”

“About what?”

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You already did,” Dirk says so quietly Jake almost misses it. 

“What?” He gasps.

Something crosses Dirk’s face and he grimaces. “It’s nothing.” He starts to roll over to turn away from Jake. 

“It’s clearly not, Dirk. Just tell me what’s wrong. What did… if there was something I did, please tell me. I know I’m not perfect by any means but you deserve that.” 

Dirk watches him in the dim light. “I don’t understand what your problem is with going a little rougher,” he says, seemingly choosing each word carefully. It feels like a sidestep from his comment but Jake isn’t going to force it out. 

Jake sighs. “It’s because, oh I don’t know, I don’t want to treat you like that? Dirk, why is it so hard for you to just let me love you?”

“Love me? What does that have to with it?”

Jake furrows his eyebrows as he watches Dirk. He falters for almost a second as he says it. “I- I love you, Dirk. You should know that by now.”

Dirk laughs but it’s mocking. “You don’t love me, Jake. If you loved me then—“ and he stops. The amused expression slides off his face and something painful crosses it. 

“Then what, Dirk,” Jake softly urges.

Dirk stills for a moment before throwing himself into movement and standing up out of the bed. “I need to go,” he says as he’s scrambling to put on his pants.

“What? You’re leaving?” Jake says incredulously and gets up as well, reaching for something to clothe himself with. No sense having this bizarre conversation naked now.

Dirk is already down the hall heading for the door. Jake runs after him when he’s halfway decent. He’s so terribly confused, where did it all go wrong? He thought he’d been fine, they’d been fine. 

“Dirk what’s going on? I don’t understand! Lately you’ve been this completely different person.” There’s an obvious underlying tone of desperation in his voice. “It’s as if I don’t know who you are.” 

Dirk has his hand on the handle when he stops and faces Jake. “Maybe it’s me who doesn’t know who you are,” he spits. And just like that, he’s slipping out the door and into the night. 

Jake doesn’t have it in himself to chase after him. All of it, whatever had just happened, had occurred so fast he almost couldn’t process it. He staggers back from the door after watching it close in front of him. He ends up collapsing into the couch, filled with a cavernous emptiness and the sense that he was just broken up with. 

Dirk didn’t say so, though. He has that hope at least. Maybe they can fix this. 

And if they don’t… well, he’ll have to see Dirk again eventually. 

He left his laptop. 

\---

Karkat takes copies of ciphers to his one cryptoanalyst friends in hopes of triangulating the source. 

“Listen, I don’t know what else to tell you. I’ve looked at every single one of these you’ve given me and they all have the same IP indicating one coordinate,” Sollux tells Karkat that Friday.

Thus far that week Dave has helped him crack three more letters- D, E, and N. Coupled with another N it’s nonsense so far, but he’s hopeful for some more clarity soon. 

However it seems more likely that this is all one big joke forcing him to chase his own tail. That would certainly be Strider’s style. He can sense his impending humiliation, it’s only a matter of how severe it will be. Especially since he spent almost the entire week chasing this one possible link to Strider. 

“Run it one more time,” Karkat begs. “It can’t be from that location, it makes no sense.” Because according to Sollux, the ciphers were being sent from the library. And unless Strider were there, well… There’s just no way. Sollux scoffs and pretends to throw down the USB Karkat had given him, but he turns away and Karkat knows he’ll do it anyway. 

He’s been ignoring his other leads to process the ciphers on his own too. Thank god he has Dave, he’d be totally and embarrassingly lost without him. If only he wasn’t so shit at running code.

Everything falls to the wayside as he struggles to find a source, anything that indicates they aren’t bewilderingly being sent from the same library he’s receiving them at. But when he tries to stay home, Strider doesn’t send them. It’s aggravating. Everything about Strider is aggravating. 

At least Dave is consistent. 

That’s another troubling line of thought in itself- he finds his thoughts lingering on his library companion. What a Vantas move, desiring someone just because they help him. 

“That’s my problem,” he tells Kanaya at their weekly coffee meeting, his one event allowing him some semblance of a social life. “What is it with me being attracted to someone just because they’re nice to me? What the fuck is my problem?”

Kanaya sighs. “You’re not attracted to people who are nice to you, you’re attracted to people who could probably kill you. You’ve always been like that.” 

“Yeah well when I’m saying he’s a nice guy I’m not being sarcastic, I don’t think the guy would know danger if it slapped him in the face.”

“Alright then. How’s he being nice to you?” Kanaya glances sidelong at him. 

Karkat purses his lips. “He’s helping me uncode. A thing.” 

Kanaya watches him unconvincingly. Karkat doesn’t continue. “I’ve known you for long enough now to know there’s more to that story. And you’ve been a tad weird lately, I suppose.”

“Yeah well shit’s been ‘a tad weird’ lately,” Karkat sighs. 

“Are you ever going to tell me--”

“No,” Karkat swiftly cuts her off. He should tell her, he’s just fairly certain he’s not ready for her reaction, of all people.

Kanaya huffs. “Fair enough. I’ll get it out of you someday though, even if I have to resort to some of your own more sordid interrogative measures.” 

“Would love to see you try.”

The end of that day sees Karkat uncovering another letter with Dave, and despite the ridiculousness of his situation he finds himself begrudgingly thankful it’s bringing him closer to the library worker. 

Well, maybe it is. Maybe it’s just his own projecting.

But after they uncover each new letter, Dave just smiles at Karkat so brilliantly in a way he’s sure he’s not used to experiencing. 

It reminds him of something he can’t place. 

But he likes it, he can be honest enough with himself about that. It makes him want to know more about Dave, who now each day seems like a mystery himself. Karkat comes to realize he knows next to nothing about the guy, having just assumed he was boring and annoying, however attractive he was. 

He’s always been susceptible to the mere-exposure principle. 

“So what do you do outside of this,” he asks out of the blue.

Dave’s eyebrows shoot up over his glasses and he glances away. “Oh uh, I mean nothing interesting. Probably not like what you do.”

“No, seriously.”

“Uh, the library isn’t the best place for a conversation,” Dave cuts them off.

Karkat snorts. As if that had stopped them before. His job is to uncover information, he’ll get it out of Dave eventually. 

Soon enough they have a small arrangement of repetitive letters- “N” “E” “S” “E” “D” “S” “N” D”

And then one afternoon it’s two at once- a “U” followed surprisingly by a number. A “7”.

“What the fuck is this?” Karkat asks Dave.

“Ah…. yeah I know what this is. Uh, it’s a number. That refers to a certain cipher set, where each one… here lemme just do it.” 

Karkat watches raptly as Dave inputs the letters into the decoder and enters the number separately. 

“Here, why don’t you do the honors.”

Gladly. Karkat takes over the mousepad and clicks the button.

When the words fill the screen, he almost doesn’t register it at first.

“SEND NUDES.” 

Oh, that _motherfucker_.


	8. Rhapsody in Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us not forget what we’re really here for

“SEND NUDES.” 

Karkat lets out a low wheeze as he grips the table and stands up. 

“You uh, you alright there buddy?” Dave offers unhelpfully next to him. Karkat ignores him, staring at the glaring letters on the screen. 

He is going to _murder _him. He can’t wait until he sees him again, he’s going to do unspeakable things to him--__

____

His phone pings in his pocket. No, no, no, absolutely not. 

He slams his laptop closed and with robotic, tightly controlled movements that barely conceal his rage he packs up. 

“I can’t fucking deal with this,” he mutters under his breath. 

“Uh, what are you doing?” Dave asks.

It would be very unfair to unleash on him, but it’s tempting. “Leaving,” Karkat snaps, quiet loudly.

“You’re leaving? But we just solved it…?” 

“Goodbye, Dave.” No sense making a scene here. 

It’s definitely what Strider _wants_ out of him. 

“Well alright, you’re welcome?” Dave laughs nervously. 

Karkat doesn’t reply, too focused on leaving before he totally loses it. He’s worked for too long, too hard on keeping his emotions under a lid to let it all go to waste just because Strider provoked him. 

When he’s finally outside in fresh air, he fumbles for his phone to see whatever messages he’d got. 

_1-323-117-6354_ :  
nice job, vantass. since i asked so nicely can i have a photo of said ass

YOU ARE A WASTE OF RESOURCES AND MY TIME

OH AND I HATE YOU

I WILL MURDER YOU WHEN I SEE YOU NEXT, THERE WONT BE ANYTHING LEFT FOR ANYONE TO FIND 

_1-323-117-6354_ :  
yes ravish me please

Karkat can’t help it, he throws his phone down onto the stone staircase steps. 

It doesn’t do much for him, he just has to go lamely retrieve the damn thing in it’s lifeproof case once he’s closed his eyes and taken a few breaths. A few city bystanders turn and look at him, which he ignores. 

_Fuck_ Strider. Fuck everything about him. No more messages after tonight. He’s done with his childish games. 

 

Strider, unfortunately, is not done with him. 

He proceeds to send him more texts, which Karkat refuses to open. 

When his computer crashes at work the next day, he just knows who is behind it. And then he has to message Sollux to patch the obvious mole in the network, and feels defeated. 

Jake looks worse than ever. He looks like he hasn’t slept. Hell, he looks worse than the few all-nighters they’d pulled on cases before. 

“What fucking wood chipper did they pull your ass out of today?” He asks.

Jake, usually ready at the hip with something to send back his way, only frowns at him and goes to his own desk. 

When his computer crashes a second time he gives up and goes outside to look at his phone. 

As expected, it’s full of complete bullshit, message after message from different numbers, and all of them undoubtedly from Strider.

He sighs and starts to scroll through them. 

The last one is a clear confirmation that he was responsible for his technical difficulties. 

_1-323-117-6937_ :  
alright hot stuff guess we gotta do this the hard way

 

 _Hot stuff_. Goddamn that man. 

 

WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS IT? YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION GODDAMN IT

 

 _1-323-117-6937_ :  
you look nice today

WELL FUCK YOU TOO

Is Strider watching him, at this moment? He’s outside now, it’s possible. He looks around nervously and considers heading back into the building, but decides to stand his ground instead.

However he knows that the possibility of it shouldn’t excite him like this, make his stomach squirm in a way that isn’t just anxiety. 

_1-323-117-6937_ :  
ive been thinking about you

DO YOU DO ANYTHING ELSE EXCEPT CONSIDER NEW WAYS TO MAKE MY LIFE HELL

 _1-323-117-6937_ :  
i think about stealing stuff

OF COURSE YOU FUCKING DO WHY DID I POSSIBLY THINK OTHERWISE

 _1-323-117-6937_ :  
but seriously i think about blowing you like, all the time

Karkat shuts off his phone and goes inside. 

It’s not until he’s out of the building later and he opens his phone to see the message

 _1-323-117-6937_ :  
haha got em

 

He is going to kill Strider one day, if it’s the last thing he ever does. 

When he’d left to go inside the building, he knew he was showing his hand, because he immediately sought the privacy of a bathroom and spent far too long trying to clear his mind of a memory he had not stopped thinking about for a day since it happened. 

 

When he gets home, there is an absurdly large bouquet of flowers the doorstep of his townhome. 

_Too bad I’m allergic to flowers_ , he thinks bitterly. He turns around and carries them to the trash on the street, and notices a box sitting on top. 

It’s a box of Benadryl, wrapped with a bow and a card under that reads XOXO. 

Karkat smashes all of it into the garbage and stomps back inside. Of course Strider would fucking know that about him, what didn’t he know? 

He tries to subtly draw all of his blinds over the course of the evening. Strider knows where he lives, which shouldn’t surprise him. But it does bother him.

Because the feeling of being watched has an odd affect on him. 

He hates Strider, hates him so much it hurts, and then hates him some more. He was doing so well, doing so well for so long, and then this asshole had to roll through and ruin everything he’d worked for.

For awhile he’d almost felt normal. 

It’s not his workout that helps him finally get that tension out, but the long, hot shower he takes afterwards. 

\---

He hasn’t been back to the library work on his project in three days, and Strider is blowing up his phone like it’s his job. 

Karkat stomps into his townhome and is sure to double-bolt it when he enters. It’s not like it matters, he’s pretty sure Strider could find his way in if he really wanted to. His routine is the same: handcuffs and badge go into an unsuspecting drawer. Work gun safely in case. 

When he sits down at his kitchen table and pulls out his phone, he’s got a bunch more. 

_1-704-181-6937_ :  
hey handsome

was thinking about you all day today 

kinda wanted to see you again 

is that a bit soon? i know you’re supposed to wait a little bit after the first date but i just can’t stay away from you

i keep hoping you guys will figure out when our next job is again but it’s like you’re determined not to  
like shit dude i can’t make it anymore easy for you

guess i’ll have to take things into my own hands

 

That last message came at around six, a little shortly after he left work that day. He and Jake had chosen to focus on the LCG for a little bit, and though Karkat fought to pursue the Strider leads, Jake wasn’t having any of it. And to a degree, however much Karkat wanted to see Strider behind bars, he was also apprehensive towards their next meeting. 

Strider knew too much, and the only way Karkat could secure that it would never get out was if he caught him. 

All of the Caliborn gang leads were shit, though. They were always shit. Karkat had never hated his job so much. Jake was being particularly obstinate as of late, and Karkat wasn’t sure if it was time to take him to the bar for a few like they did sometimes. 

It was a good reminder that they were still _partners_. 

While Jake had been seeing his significant other those little hangouts were few and far away, and all that did was remind Karkat of a fact he didn’t particularly like to acknowledge. 

He was lonely, plain and simple. 

He doesn’t particularly have the energy to go upstairs yet, so he moves to slink down on his couch, only bothering to take off his shoes. He’s sure he can find something to watch to pass the time before he picks himself up to go work out. 

He’s thumbing through options when his phone lights up beside him.

 _1-704-181-7691_ :  
i see you

Karkat’s back goes board stiff even though he partially suspects it to be a joke. Despite it, he pauses the TV just so he can hear his surroundings. It was dumb to have it on in the first place.

But he never expected Strider to go this far. Then again, maybe he should have. 

_1-704-181-6937_ :  
you look hot tonight but you always look hot 

THIS ISNT FUNNY

 _1-704-181-7691_ :  
well what may not be funny but actually fun is a round of hide and seek

Karkat stands up from the couch, his body immediately going into hyperdrive. 

BULLSHIT

 _1-704-181-7691_ :  
are you sure about that

He leaps up from the couch and goes back into the hallway, pulling his gun out of its case, shoving in the magazine. He hates that he’s reacting like this, probably overreacting, but he can’t risk it. 

But as always, it’s a double edged sword. In the case that there is no one there-- there’s no one there, and Strider sent him on a chase through his own home.

However if Strider is actually there… well then. He’s got to deal with Strider.

He shouldn’t feel excited about it in a way that makes his stomach bottom out, but he does have a moment of that. He can’t label it, but it’s not mere professional hope to bag a criminal, and it’s not just anger. 

The hate he carries for Strider flares up as he realizes that. He just can’t stand him. 

_1-704-181-7691_ :  
yeah, thats what i thought  
wanna play a game?

Alright then, game on motherfucker. Karkat circles around his home, first back through the kitchen and then to the living room. 

His place isn’t that big, so he has a sinking feeling he knows where Strider is, if he’s there at all. 

As the tension escalates, his body reacts. It’s normal, he’s used to this. But something about it being in his house, in the place where he thought he’d be safe, adds a sickening undercurrent to those feelings. 

When the spare is empty there’s nowhere else to go but up. His steps are as quiet as he can make them as he moves up his stairs to the upper floor. The bathroom is, as expected, empty. And that only leaves his room. 

He pushes the door open and flicks on the light, and hates how he jumps when the dark outline of a body laying on his bed becomes fully filled in, revealing none other than Strider himself. He’s laying back on a pile of pillows, feet kicked up on the comforter. 

There is a name for that, there has to be, for the shock one feels when they find what they are looking for, but they don’t expect it to be there in the first place. 

“Nice place you got here, sweetcheeks,” Strider says, not making any motion to move. 

Karkat lifts the gun up to him, aiming at the chest of his suited body. “Move and I’ll shoot.” 

“Well, you’d be shooting blanks so, I’m not terribly worried about that.”

Karkat sighs and lowers the gun to the bottom of his bed, praying that Strider is bluffing and it’s actually loaded. He presses on the trigger and… nothing. Well, shit. When the fuck did the mag get unloaded? His nerves are fraying, he can’t process the why on the end of that big question. He tosses the gun aside and steps into the room fully, drawing himself up to his full height and crossing his arms.

“Alright, fine. What are you doing here?” He tries not to sound as tense as he feels. Seeing Strider had been a kick of searing adrenaline, and now his body is practically humming. 

“Well. I came to see you. I was kinda sad I didn’t get to see you the other night, we had a real nice catch. That shit sold real quick lemme tell you a thing!” 

“You came to see me…” he says, very suspiciously and ignoring the rest of his statement. 

“I really missed you, dude. And you never sent me those photos I so kindly asked you for.” 

_Send nudes_. Karkat remembers. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists, trying not to let Strider get any more of a rise out of him. 

Trying not to show how his mere presence in his house is provoking him.

Strider keeps talking, moves so that he’s sitting on the side of the bed and slides up into standing and facing him. “So I took things into my own hands and thought I’d pay you a well-deserved visit.” 

“You’re in my home, I could easily arrest you if I wanted to.” 

“Oh yeah? Looks like you might be forgetting something,” Strider says, and then reaches behind him. There’s the classic clink of metal as he produces a pair of handcuffs and hangs them from an extended finger. 

Karkat scowls. “Where the fuck did you get those?”

“I dunno, it’s almost like you walked in and put them down somewhere.” Strider then tosses them across the room, and Karkat wants to go run after them but he thinks Strider would break for it. 

How the hell did he do that? He’d just come in and put those away, how fast and silent was Strider? He hated feeling so unmatched against him. Strider must have somehow replaced his magazine with blanks… how could he have missed it? “I don’t understand why you’re here, if not to just continue torturing me with your continued communication.”

Strider laughs. “What if I just want to talk?”

“About _what_? What could you possibly have to talk to me about?”

“You, obviously.”

“God. Why are you so obsessed with me? Maybe if you spent less time bothering me you could, I don’t know, steal more shit?”

Strider laughs heartily. “Hey, what are winnings if not to share them with someone?”

“Fuck you.”

“That word always sounds so good coming out of your mouth.”

Karkat throws his arms out, exasperated. “What do you want with me? Just tell me already holy shit.” 

He pauses before speaking. “I just want you to see that it’s not _bad_ ,” Strider says, saying his words very slowly as if Karkat wouldn’t understand if he didn’t. 

There is silence, as Karkat struggles to form words. Because he certainly understands what Strider is referring to, and he doesn’t like it. 

“What isn’t,” he says, playing dumb. 

Strider sniffs. “You know what I’m talking about, you and your little uh, problem.”

“ _I don’t know what you’re talking about_.”

“You know very well what I’m talking about. It’s a problem you’re having right now, talking to me.”

Karkat stills. Yeah. He’d chosen to forget that little detail, the little fact that Strider can _see_ things he shouldn’t be able to see with those goddamn lenses. He crosses his arms, feeling naked despite being fully clothed. 

He doesn’t like how well Strider has clear view of him. 

How well Strider knows him. 

Strider keeps talking. “Fuck, dude, you’re just always trying to cover up all this stuff that’s going on inside you, and I just don’t get it and you know the last time I saw you—.” 

“You _assaulted_ me,” Karkat spits, trying to interrupt whatever Strider might be indicating. 

“And you,” he says, taking a few steps forward and closing some of the distance in that bedroom, “Liked it.”

The agent bristles against it, the truth of it, that for some maddening reason he could not stop thinking about it.

Had not been able to stop thinking about it.

And he had tried to keep it down, after every interaction, and though he wouldn’t let those thoughts breach his thinking mind they were always still back there, swirling dangerously. 

Why was he so messed up? It claws at him, stronger than usual. He hated Strider for doing this to him, taking the one thing he’d been trying to hide for so long and shoving it up to where he must see it and can’t look away. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He wheezes instead, rather stupidly. He can hear Strider laugh breathily. 

“I can’t tell you that,” he says. He sounds so infuriatingly confident. “I couldn’t show you anyways, this mask happened to be attached to this suit. I’d have to take off my entire shirt and you’d be subjected to the glory that is my six pack.”

Karkat stares at him. Holy shit. He should be angrier at that statement, absolutely livid, but— 

He shouldn’t want to know what Strider looks like under there, but he does. His brain had been populating the blank on it’s own. 

_No._ Once the thought bubbles up from that spewing cauldron of shame he can’t stop it, not when he’s already so on edge in his own home.

He tries not to stutter his words as he speaks, despite the sensation he’d become used to hitting him harder than usual, making him shake. “Listen, you’ve made your point. Can you please just leave me alone and we can pretend this never happened, and I’ll keep going along with trying to catch you--”

“No, I can’t.”

Strider steps forward one more step. Karkat clenches his fists. His fingers are trembling.

“If you step any closer, I will be forced to hurt you.”

“Is that what you want to do? Take all that anger out on me?”

“ _Stop that_.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop saying stuff like that, like you--” 

“Like I want you to fuck me? I mean, was it not obvious at this point? Man every time you threaten me I’m not sure if you actually want to kill me or just like, pound my brains out.”

Karkat lunges at him. 

Strider snaps out of the way, faster than eyes can even move. Karkat spins around to find him. His room isn’t that big, there isn’t much space for Strider to work around. 

“Yeah, baby, let’s dance,” Strider says from behind him.

Karkat spins around and steps toward Strider, throwing a fist in his direction and half expecting Strider to duck away. 

Strider, surprisingly, engages him. He blocks his fist by ducking to the side. Karkat grunts and twists back at him, throwing a hook instead. Strider ducks away from that as well, and against his better judgement, Karkat grabs his wrist and pulls Strider toward him. 

He shouldn’t touch him, he knows things are going to get out of control now. 

He knows from the moment his fingers brush against the skin of his suit that he’s made a terrible decision. 

He uses the momentum of his hold around Strider’s wrist to throw his opposite elbow into his chest and slam him into the ground. 

Strider hits the rug and wraps an arm around Karkat, attempting to roll them over so that he’s on top. He succeeds, pushing his body over so that it’s laying over Karkat’s with his full force.

For a bizarre moment, their bodies slot together and Karkat knows that they are both on the same unfortunate page. 

The angered heat rumbles inside him as Strider purposefully slides some pressure between his leg, shamelessly notching against him. Karkat gasps out and shoves out to push him away. It’s too much, he’s too exposed like this. 

“Why do you do this?” Strider says as Karkat takes control again, rolls over the top and tries to shut down his legs by pressing down with the flat of his calf. “Why do you keep hiding all these parts of yourself? I can see them, they’re right there!” 

Karkat isn’t expecting Strider to then pull Karkat flat to his own body, thrusting up from the hips to rub against him. The bubbling hot madness intermixed with rage causes him to shout. 

“They’re _not_ ,” he grits out, rolls them over so that he is pressing down on Dave now. He struggles to capture one of his arms, grabs ahold of one of his wrists. 

“Just take it,” Strider urges him. Karkat fights for control of his arm, but Strider pushes up instead so that he’s on top of his body, completely pressed up against him once more. 

“I don’t want to give you what you want,” Karkat strains to say through the effort of gaining back control of the fight. It’s just a tangled mess of wrestling limbs, they’re barely even actually fighting. 

“Take it if _you_ want it,” Strider grunts, and rolls over so they are apart again. 

He faces Karkat as he stands. Karkat growls as he pops back up to his feet as well. 

“I don’t want it!” he snarls and lunges at him again, grabbing hold of his shoulders and thrusting Strider down to the floor again. 

“Then what do you want?! Why are you doing this?!” Strider gasps between the grappling arms, as they weave their around their bodies and try to pin each other endlessly. 

Karkat yanks Strider so that he’s turned over, catches one of his arms and slams it to the small of his back. Strider pushes up with his other arm, but it’s near futile. 

“Just take it, Karkat! _Just take what you want_!” 

 

The fight was lost before it even began. 

No, he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t want to do this.

“ _How_?” Karkat yells, pushing his pinned arm down further with finality. He’s got nothing with which to bind him with, with the handcuffs thrown aside somewhere he didn’t see, and at once everything and nothing matters. His body fizzles with the adrenaline of the fight and Strider pressed up so close to him

“Don’t you know I’m always prepared?” Strider laughs out weakly. 

_No._ There’s no way. With shaking fingers Karkat pulls the latch on the directly back pocket of Strider’s suit, and when he reaches a hand in there the anger becomes so intense he can barely handle it.

He’s seeing red. Combined with the high of the fight and Striders provocative words, he tips over the edge and into insanity. 

“ _Fuck you, Strider,_ ” he grits out. “ _I’m never going to let you forget this_.” 

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” Strider wheezes. “Fucking--- fucking _punish me_ , Karkat. Give me everything you’ve got.” 

He’s so angry he’s shaking. 

He’s so turned on he might combust if he doesn’t get it out of his system. 

The dam explosively breaks inside him. 

He feels roughly for the belt along Strider’s pants, struggling to figure out if they come off separately. It seems they do, Strider actually helps him, and it only makes Karkat’s movements more aggressive. It’s a strange material, slippery in his hands much like the man he’s got pinned under him. 

This is insane. Strider in laying in front of him, bare-assed. 

It’s a nice ass. Karkat is furious. 

It’s all just… fast, after that. He straddles Strider’s legs and comes up until he’s on his knees, unzipping and unbuckling his own pants. A pre-lubed condom rolled up his hardened length, a small squeeze of lube, all from Strider’s own pocket. 

He’s not going to bother working Strider up for this. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve it. 

He yanks him up so that he’s resting on his elbows, ass at the perfect level of Karkat’s hips. 

Karkat pushes up against the tight spot he’s aiming for while Strider laughs, absolutely unhinged. And then he stops to groan out as Karkat forces his way in, pounding his fist into the ground and cursing. 

It’s surprisingly easier to get in than Karkat had expected it would be. 

Strider seems to sense his hesitation. “I did say I was always prepared,” he says with a low, taunting tone. 

When Karkat realizes what that means he punctuates his understanding with a harsh thrust in deeper, fucking himself in further. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he growls. 

“Come on, _come on_ , give me what I deserve!” Strider goads, ignoring him. 

Karkat thrusts in further. It’s practically an out of body experience at this point. When he’s got a decent amount of length in he pulls out once more and snaps back in. When he knows he’s got good movement, he doesn’t stop. He takes a bruising hold of Strider’s hips and starts to fuck him as mercilessly as he’s capable. 

He sets a rough, unyielding pace as he fucks Strider. Fuck fuck fuck, it should not feel this good. It feels _incredible_. Strider is gasping out in front of him, bracing himself on the floor. Karkat just thrusts in harder. He’s so out of control, never been this out of control, _and it feels so good_. 

He just pushes himself harder, he wants Strider to be sore for days after this and nothing less. He wants him raw and regretful. He wants to ruin him. 

He notices that Strider is reaching down with one hand to touch himself. 

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” Karkat says. He stretches forward to grab ahold of Strider’s arms and yanks them back, thrusting his hips down so that the man is forced prone. He moans out as he does. 

“Oh, fuck, _hot_ ,” Strider gasps. 

It’s all just backfiring, all of it. He clamps a hand down around both of Strider’s wrists, using the pressure on them to brace himself as he continues to fuck him. He doesn’t think he can go much harder than this, these measured forceful thrusts coupled with the tightness pushing himself close to the edge. He doesn’t want to come yet, he’s not done pounding him into the ground, but as always his body makes other choices. 

He comes inside Strider, inside the condom, with an anguished throaty cry. 

After a moment of them laying there, both breathing with exertion, it all comes crashing down on Karkat. 

“Holy shit, what did I do,” he gasps and quickly pulls out. 

Strider is out from under him in a second, pulling his suit up as he does. 

Karkat stays kneeling on the ground in the shocking wake of his actions. 

Strider shuts off the light and cautiously trots back to him. How does he move so _fast_?

“Don’t think about it too hard, Karkitty,” he says. Karkat can hear something like a breathless, invigorated giggle in his voice. He should get up, move, or something, he’s vulnerable like this…

Strider leans down and kisses him, bare mouthed once more. 

Of course he lied about the mask. 

And then he’s back on his feet, laughing, and crouched in his window and still _laughing_. 

“See you soon, babe. I’m not the hit it and quit it type, you’ll hear from me!” 

_Fuck_. 

He just fucked his own most wanted criminal and still doesn’t know what he looks like.


	9. You Don't Know Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You write my name on your walls_   
>  _But you don't know me_   
>  _I feel you tracing my scars_   
>  _But you don't know me_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGHQEmruLsw)

Jake had tried to pull himself together. He really had. 

But Dirk wasn’t answering his messages, and Jake is not easily adjusting to his sudden absence from his life. Dirk had been the solid fixture he needed, and not even a week later he finds himself mourning the loss of his scent during the evening hours, or hearing the ghost of his voice behind his ear. 

He just doesn’t know where it all went _wrong_. What had he done to drive Dirk away? 

The panic strikes him at night, when he wonders if Strider had correspondence with Dirk, but he immediately writes it off as ridiculous. How would they even know each other? Had Strider been vengeful enough after that night? When he plays back those few tense conversations they’d had after, he gets an inkling that Dirk had been wanting something out of him, but again Jake can’t separate it from his own projected worries.

Thinking about it requires him to accept a single fact, a distinct thought that begins to worm through his waking mind as the time since Dirk’s sudden departure increases. Jake knows that it’s true, but he can’t face it: 

He had been unfaithful to his love for the sake of an action so thoughtlessly petty, executed in the heat of the moment during a transient victory. 

He had cheated on Dirk and in the same action, cut down another human to that of an object. 

_You’re a monster._

It’s a thought that hits him late in the night when tears maybe seep into his pillow, though it may just been the wet of his hair after a shower. 

_You’re a monster._

Dirk never deserved him. All Dirk ever had done was love him even when his hate for a criminal coated his every emotion in a hardened, uncrackable glaze.

He was a monster, a terrible person, didn’t deserve forgiveness or love or… 

Dirk had inexplicably left him, and Jake had cheated- the only reason he could think of for why that _Dirk did not, could not know._

He could not explain it. 

The acknowledgement of his folly did not change the searing pain that hit his chest as he considered it, coming in ravaging waves that took his breath away when he remembered in his day to day that Dirk was gone and he was alone again, even if hopefully short-lived. 

Jake was hopeful that Dirk would come back, there was so much indicating he would- he’d left his computer, and kept the key Jake had given him. None of it was adding up, and coupled with the lack of answer he got from Dirk he was going mad. 

If this heartbreak is already sickening, he can’t imagine how he’ll feel if Dirk actually ends it completely. 

At night, he sleeps, but always wakes up always a few minutes before his alarm is set to go off, unable to move his limbs or speak, as someone sits on his chest and demands a single question of him:

“ _Why did you do it_?”

Jake cannot scream, cannot answer it. He doesn’t want to open the door fully within him because he’s scared of the reason. 

_I don’t know_ , he tries to tell the being on his chest. They put a hand around his throat and squeeze. 

“ _Why did you lie to me, Jake?_ ” 

_I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…_

He can’t breathe. 

 

“ _You’re a monster, Jake English,_ ” Dirk says. 

He wakes up, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He throws himself out of bed, thankful that he can actually move his limbs, and stumbles into the shower. 

He braces himself against the tile wall and lets the water run over his head and beat over his shoulders, but it does nothing to fight against his heaving chest, only serving to wash the saltwater off his face. 

His alarm goes off in the other room. 

 

He drags his feet into his workplace once more, demanding himself to focus. He and Karkat have been next to useless for over two weeks now, and the strikes on the administrative side of issues have been stacking up. 

No thinking about Dirk today, he tells himself. No letting his emotions get in the way of work, not anymore. 

It is a painful thought. And practically impossible. 

“How was your night?” He asks Karkat when he gets into the office.

Karkat looks up at him and then quickly back down at his desk. “If you ask me that question ever again I will flay your body on the roof,” he says, his voice sounding slightly hoarser that usual. 

“Wonderful,” Jake replies and sits down to dig through the pile of printouts and newspaper clippings on his desk. 

“Did you get the address of the Simons witness?” Karkat asks fifteen minutes later. 

Jake has to clear his throat before answering. “I thought your friend in tech was taking care of that?” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Karkat says. 

Jake looks up suddenly. Karkat isn’t one to usually curse unless they’re on the streets. “Something wrong?”

“No no, yeah uh, shit you’re right,” Karkat stumbles over his words. Jake keeps his eyes on him, a bit concerned. He stands up out of his desk, movement appearing practically robotic. 

“You alright there, chum?” 

“I’m fucking fine, Jake,” Karkat snaps at him, way too quickly. He stops and breathes in. “Christ, sorry. Did you know the last Caliborn witness they interviewed had their house blown up?” 

Oh, that must be what’s got him so shaken up. For all his bluster, Karkat has always cared deeply about others. 

“No I… I hadn’t heard that,” Jake sighs. 

“Yeah I just got word from next door. People are starting to say if they can find the compound they’ll just bomb the thing.”

“But he’s got… but he’s got known hostages!” 

“Yeah, I fucking know that,” Karkat says. He rubs a hand across his tired face. “I’m gonna go get coffee and see if Sollux has anything new for us, you need anything?”

The friendly overture from his partner is welcome. “No, but… thank you.” 

Karkat smiles at him, and no one would probably even know it was a smile besides Jake because it’s just his lips pressed tight with the corners tilted up. 

Jake gets back to work.

It is the quiet moments of his day like this when he misses Dirk most.

And he realizes that his thoughts on Dirk were always matched if not overthrown by an equal about focused on Strider. 

_Thirsty_ , Karkat had called him. 

The man comes stumbling in later with no coffee and a new file not even twenty minutes later. 

“Bad news or worse news, asshole?” He yells, all the hopeful amiability from earlier void from his voice. 

“Bad news?” He offers uncertainly. 

“Great. Bad news, they got new intel on the next Strider job.” 

“Uh, okay, what’s worse?” It’s a very stupid statement. 

“We’re obviously on it, asshole. Wake the fuck up.” 

-

Jake plays with the cuffs of his button down shirt to pass the time. Karkat is pissy as ever, pacing in the foyer of the small museum. 

If Jake didn’t know any better, he’d say his partner was rather anxious, but he wasn’t about to make light of it.

He was anxious himself, and it showed in the stiffness of his shoulders and his actions. Underneath his clothes he was certainly shaking and would be better off leaning against a wall somewhere.

It would be the first time since the incident that he would be seeing Strider. As he turned that thought over in his head, the worse he felt. 

He continued to stand his ground, ignoring the assigned backup milling about behind them. 

The entire street is shut down. It’s so obvious, he doubted the Striders will even show. 

He sure hopes they won’t. 

As if on cue, there’s the telltale whir of an engine. 

They’re here. Unless they just sent the bots this time, which would be certainly preferable, if not potentially far more destructive. 

A hovering robot makes its way into the hall, shining under the lights. It turns a bright eye onto Jake and locks on. Jake sucks in a breath, and instead of shooting at it he sprints towards it. 

“Take it out!” He yells at the men behind him, and there’s a short spurt of gunfire over his head that answers that question. The robot stumbles in the air but continues on its course, locking on to another person. 

Karkat sprints after Jake. 

“Do we know what they’re after this time?” Karkat calls to him. 

They stumble into another corridor with a second floating robot, and jump into a doorway to avoid its gaze. Jake is very, very eager to avoid a repeat of the last time he got shot with one of them. 

“We don’t,” Jake answers. “Only that it’s here, but I think we’re going in the right direction.” He thinks he’s correct, but he doesn’t want to be. 

Karkat only grunts and leans forward around the doorway, taking a shot at the robot. It makes a noise as the shot hits a corner and flies off elsewhere. 

“You go, I’ll distract it,” Jake says.

Karkat narrows his eyes at Jake. “How about _you_ go and _I’ll_ distract it.” 

They stare each other down for a moment in that small slice of cover, but the droid is still coming down the hallway towards them. With a sigh, they both reach out and unload a few shots each, one shot hitting the eye dead on. It cracks and the machine sputters once before falling to the ground with a crash.

They both begrudgingly step out of the doorway and continue down the hallway, when there’s a loud crash from an adjoined room. 

And then another one, even louder, off elsewhere in the building.

Jake turns to Karkat. “ _We are not splitting up again_ ,” he snaps. 

Karkat glares at him and purses his lips, eyes also searching Jake’s face. He is thinking something, but Jake doesn’t know what’s going on behind his eyes. “We have to split up.”

“No, we don’t?” 

“Our chances are better if--”

“Oh, and that worked out so well last time, didn’t it?” Jake snaps.

Karkat exhales angrily. “It’s… It’s different this time. God, we don’t have time for this.” He shoves past Jake. “Jake, I swear to fucking god, just work with me just this once, and if we don’t get fired tomorrow I will owe you a huge favor. I just…. I need to face him alone.”

Jake stares at him, jaw slightly slackened. He’s never heard Karkat so... desperate. “ _Him_?” He says stupidly. 

Karkat scowls and turns to take off down the hallway. 

“How do you know which one is… _him_?” Jake calls after his partner. 

“I just know, okay?” Karkat starts to jog, and disappears around a corner.

Great. Alone, again. He really needs to stop doing this. His annoyance with Karkat is quickly overshadowed by the rush of panic in his veins at the prospect of facing Strider. 

The only direction is forward. He recalls in his head where the last sound came from and throws open the closest door, only to be met with a practical landslide of plaster and dust in the air. Well, that surely explains the noise. 

Jake waves his hand in front of his face and coughs, but there’s movement before him. 

He stumbles over the pile of collapsed wall. What were they trying to take again? He’d had so much trouble paying attention during the briefing, only able to focus on the fact that he might see Strider again. 

“Strider!” He calls out. There’s muffled steps so he barrels forward. As he moves through the dust over the rubble, the hallway becomes lit again. Strider must have just blasted straight through the wall. It’s smooth limestone floors and windows facing a courtyard after that, and mirrors lining the opposite wall. 

At the end of it Strider stands before one with a thick, velvet bag hung over his shoulder, his stiff figure blending in with the dark of the last window. Jake recognizes which immediately, and his heart sinks. 

They really have to stop meeting like this. 

He suddenly doesn’t care at all what it could be that was stolen or for his repeated irresponsibility. “Freeze,” Jake shouts and reaches for his gun. 

Strider doesn’t respond, just kicks out the window. 

Jake panics, realizing Strider will make his escape unless he does something… but there’s nothing he can do. He won’t put his hands on the man again. For a moment the guilt overweighs his desire to bring the man to justice. 

“I’m sorry!” He shouts impulsively, but does not expect the effect it has on the criminal.

Strider whips to face him full-on and stills. 

It seems that he’s caught Strider off guard, so Jake throws himself forward, weapon at the ready. 

There’s soon maybe five meters between them as Jake slowly steps forward, slightly crouched, and finally stills. 

Strider does not move in the threat of the gun. 

Jake’s eyes traces his figure, noting a surprising familiarity to the way Strider holds himself. It reaches his face and his eyebrows tilt down in confusion.

Against all expectations, Strider steps toward him. 

Jake’s body automatically tightens. “Don’t… Uh. Just stay where you are.” His fingers slip around the handgrip. 

Strider steps forward once more, almost as if calling his bluff. 

“I said stay where you are!” 

Another step. 

Jake starts to shake. Finding his thoughts again is a struggle. Strider does not flinch at the gun held out toward his face as he nears Jake, moving until he’s close enough he might be able to reach out and smack the gun out of Jake’s hand. Strider doesn’t, he just stills once more. 

Jake cannot even begin to imagine what his expression might be under there, but then something so unexpected happens it knocks the air out of him.

“Why did you do it?”

 _Wait, what_?

Jake gasps. Strider just spoke. The mere sound of his voice is a shock, but it’s worse now as the familiar words draw up terror from Jake’s subconscious, an echo of his dreams that can’t possibly be real. 

The voice is so painfully familiar, as if ripped from his memories. It must be a joke. He stills, slack jawed. 

“Why did you do it, Jake?” Strider presses again. 

Jake’s brain shorts out as he struggles for a response against a new emotion beating away in his chest. 

Strider steps closer. The gun is almost to his chest now. He speaks again, not waiting for Jake to respond. 

“Why didn’t you tell him?” 

The familiarity is so intense, it throws his balance off. The room around them spins. Jake drops the gun, his arms going to his sides as he gazes away from Strider. He had to bring up Dirk, make things so much more difficult for him. Suddenly nothing makes sense. 

“I--I don’t know…” he murmurs. 

Strider is so close now, he could reach out and touch him. “Why didn’t you tell him?” The words are spoken through gritted teeth, and understanding pours into Jake.

He knows that voice. 

There’s no one else it could be, how could he have not known this whole time? 

There was only ever one person that could be Strider. 

“ _Dirk_?” 

Strider physically recoils, stepping back. With a jerky movement he pivots and sprints out of the room, disappearing through the window as Jake sinks to his knees, staring at the gun in his trembling hands as his entire world shifts in an instant. 

It is as if gravity fails, the sun goes out, a change in the shade of the world. 

It is the tilting of an axis, the impossible intersection at infinity. 

Dirk is Strider.

Dirk is Strider.

Dirk is Strider.

The thought repeats in his head, an unholy refrain he can’t abate. His breathing grows ragged and he can’t move. He stares forward at the tile before him, wide eyes filled with uncomprehending panic. 

He needs to get home. He needs to think about this, make sure the validity of what he’s just found out.

Oh no.

He needs to get to that laptop. The laptop that might actually belong to Strider. 

If he’s right… he needs to get that laptop before Dirk does. 

 

Jake throws himself into movement. His body shakes and shudders, thrumming with adrenaline and denial. He almost collapses when he first tries to move, his legs not cooperating with the rest of his body as he shakes uncontrollably. 

_Please be wrong about this_ , he thinks. 

He needs to get home and prove to himself that he was wrong about this.

He has to stop, several times, as the understanding thunders through him again as he hauls himself out of the building. It’s so fresh, the concept that _Dirk might be Strider_ has all the delicacy of a collapsing building. 

And that _voice_. 

His mind is in chaos. 

 

The backup team calls out to him as Jake stumbles outside, races to his car. Karkat might be looking for him, he doesn’t care. He needs to get home, before Dirk possibly can. 

He grips the steering wheel tightly as he drives, unable to gain control of his breathing or thoughts. He wants to be wrong about this so badly. He thinks about what he’ll say if he finds Strider- or Dirk- there, what he’ll possibly do. It invokes a visceral pain unlike anything else. 

His fingers hover over his phone, debating on reaching out to a specific contact. 

He needs to know. _He needs to know_. 

“English, do you have any idea what hour of the evening it is right now?” An annoyed voice rasps at him

“I need a favor.”

“So does everyone else in this goddamn department--”

“ _Please_ ,” Jake begs as he swerves unsteadily through a yellow light turn. 

Sollux must hear some urgency, the slippage of his usual self-assurance in his voice. “O-okay. I’m listening.”

“I need you to look someone up.”

“I’m really, really not supposed to do that without an injunction.”

“There’s no time!” Jake snaps. “Please, Sollux, I’ll owe you a big one. You know I make good on those!” 

There’s a mumble of curses on the other end. “Fine, okay fine fuck I’m getting my shit, hold onto your knickers or whatever it is you always say.” 

Jake doesn’t have the wits about him to comment back, his veins are pulsing with adrenaline so strongly he can feel it in his fingertips. “Are you ready?”

“Hooking into the FBI database remotely takes a couple of fucking minutes.” 

Jake refrains from punching the side of his steering wheel in anxiety. He’s so close to home. 

“Name.” Finally. 

It’s choked out as he says it, the burn of the words on his throat akin to a downed shot. “Dirk Lalonde.” 

A freeze on the other end. “... Is that your--”

So word gets around. “Just look it up!” Jake’s heart is pounding, his brain is working too fast to make sense of it all. More than anything, he wants to know that it isn’t so and that this hunch is wrong, even though everything was leaning towards its sickening veracity. 

_Why did you do it?_

His chest seizes painfully once more, he almost has to slam on the breaks to let it subside. He doesn’t, only waits on pins and needles and nearly unable to breathe as Sollux looks up his person of interest.

“....That’s weird.”

Oh, no. No no no. “What?!”

“It’s just… huh. One person local with that name, I see a couple of other ‘Lalondes’ but uh... This person’s SSID isn’t running, can’t even find a photo. I’m seeing--”

Jake ends the call. He’s heard enough. 

Only a few more minutes until he’s home. 

 

Jake finally bursts into his home, throwing the front door open and not bothering to shut it. His nerves are fraying. Will it still be there? He’ll wait, all night, just to see, and take it to work in the morning if he has to. He stumbles into the kitchen and turns on the light.

There’s no one there. 

The computer is on the table, untouched now for several days. It probably would begin collecting dust soon. 

Evidence, maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he was wrong about it all. 

Jake collapses in relief into the counter, holding himself up by his elbows as he attempts calm down. His face falls into his hands, He tries to get a few deep breaths in but it’s all shallow. 

Everything happens at once. 

There’s movement behind him, Jake can just make out a swift dark figure in the periphery leaping forward towards the table. He moves reflexively, reaching into the cutlery block and whipping around, lobbing a knife in the direction of Strider and throwing himself forward toward the table to grab his evidence.

Strider beats him on both accounts. 

Dirk is left handed. Strider is right handed. 

The thief’s left hand snatches it out of the air by the handle, blade pointed behind his head, and the laptop comfortably tucked under his right elbow. 

Jake’s hands snap up to hold his gun out in front of him at the black-clothed man. “Strider,” he breathes. 

Jake watches as Strider grips the knife and with the same hand, dips down and peels off his mask, and then lets the armed hand fall to the side in a ‘surrender’ pose. 

The hair under is wavy, gorgeous. It is a familiar hard nose, thin-slitted eyes, a razor-sharp jawline.

It’s Dirk. 

There was no denying it now.

Dirk looks at the knife in his hands, staring to his left where it’s still floating in the air by his ear. His lips become a fine line. He holds his hand out positioning in surrender even as his fingers grip the knife, still keeping the computer tucked under his opposite elbow. “So you figured it out. Took you long enough.”

“Of course I did!” Jake snaps. His hands shake around the gun. “Especially after that little move you pulled.” 

“I was going to tell you,” Dirk murmurs, looking off in the distance for a second. He refocuses on Jake. 

Jake sucks in a breath. “Well, it’s a little late now!” he laughs, almost hysterical. Oh, god, does it hurt. The truth of it batters him like waves crashing on rocks. 

“I’m sorry, I just, fuck. Where do I begin,” he says quietly. 

“I don’t know,” Jake snaps. “Maybe with your real name, Dirk? Is that even your name?”

“My name is…” he says quietly. He laughs without humor. “Dirk Strider is my real name.” 

Jake feels slapped. “Of course it is,” he spits. 

Dirk does not speak, only regarding him with piercing eyes and a tightly drawn mouth.

Jake has no choice but to speak. “Dirk, how could you— how could you do that to me? Lie to me, for this long? How could you… make me… make me _love you_!”

Something shudders through Dirk. The knife flips on his fingers and he brings it and his fist down into the table. It dives into the wood with a resounding smack. 

“It doesn’t change _what you did to me_ ,” Dirk hisses then, low and deadly like Jake has never heard before.

Recollection slams through Jake. That night, at the mansion, when he… that was Dirk. 

How could he ever forget that night? 

The shock shoots up his spine and his stance jerks. 

“I— I—… You. You made me do it.” It is the only thing he can think to say. It is the wrong thing to say. 

The silence that follows is so long, with Dirk’s hard gaze unwavering. He finally speaks. “I didn’t make you do anything, Jake.” It’s so cold. His expression, usually placid, is thunderous. 

Jake’s going to shake apart. But he keeps the gun aloft, held out between them. 

“How could you say _you love me _when you did _that_ ,” Dirk continues venomously.__

____

____

“You humiliated me! For months!” Jake snaps, jabbing the gun towards the thief. 

“Was it worth it, then? What you did?”

His words make Jake still. “No. It… it wasn’t…” he needs to move the conversation away from this, get more answers before he falls apart. He knows facing it is inevitable, but not yet. “God, Dirk. Why… Why did you do it?”

“Do _what_?” There it is, that relentless bite.

“Steal! Lie! All of it, I don’t know! If… if there’s one thing you tell me, tell me that, please.”

Dirk releases a shuddering breath. “It’s what I’m good at, Jake. I’ve always done this. I’ve always been a thief, and I’ll always be one. There isn’t anything else out there for me, not now.” 

Jake shakes his head. “You always had a choice.”

“A choice?”

“A choice to live a normal life! You could have stopped.”

Dirk laughs coldly. “You think I had a choice? A choice to do what? I don’t even exist! How am I supposed to live a normal life when every single part of me has been built on lies since the day I was born. I was never given a choice, Jake. Not once.”

Jake shakes his head. That can’t be true. He savors the sound of Dirk saying his name, wonders if it will be the last he’ll hear it. The pangs of conflicted ache hit his chest and he inhales deeply. 

“Now tell me this. Why did you do it?” Dirk asks, voice shaking now. “Because I can’t-- I can’t hate myself anymore over it. I can’t blame myself anymore. What you did was-- was wrong.” 

“You lied to me for _months_ ,” Jake repeats, seething. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say. “You made me love you.” 

Dirk’s eyebrows raise. “Yeah? Well two wrongs don’t make a right, English.” 

It’s done. He’s no longer ‘Jake’ to him, just English. An adversary. He shakes his head again, mentally steps back and struggles to find the right words to explain. He can’t keep playing this defensive. “I-- I don’t know why I did it, okay? I’ve gone over that night in my head over and over again and asked myself the same thing and I don’t know! He just made me so mad! For so long I was so, so mad.” Jake shakes his head. 

“I hated him. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. What I did was so unlike me and I can’t explain it, Dirk. I really can’t. I told myself I’d never hurt anyone like I hurt him— oh god, like I hurt _you_. Because no one had been deserving of that. Except for… Except for…” 

Who was it now? _You_ or _him_? They were one in the same now. 

“Except for you.” 

Dirk curls his lower lip in. “You made me feel worthless, like I was practically inhuman. Like I was nothing to you.” 

Jake sucks in a breath. “I told you, I’m sorry… I never wanted to hurt you, Dirk. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

“Well you did, Jake. You really fucking did. I’ll never understand it, all that shit packed up there in your brain. You don’t even see it, do you?”

“See what?” 

“Of course not. Why couldn’t you ever just let it out with me? I gave you so many chances but you just kept it all bottled up. ‘Want to be gentle, you’re special’ what a load of shit.” Dirk snaps. 

Jake remembers then, or at least he thinks he does, all those moments where Dirk was pushing at him, asking him for more of something he wasn’t willing to give. He doesn’t know what to say because Dirk is right. That night, when it all went wrong, something snapped inside him that never should have been there. 

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Jake says weakly.

“That’s not going to be good enough.”

“I know, Dirk, I know…” His hand wavers around the gun, but he keeps it steady. A moment passes between them, still violently tense. “I need to take you in.”

Dirk shakes his head again. “No.” 

Jake starts to shake more. “Dirk, p-please, don’t make this harder than it has to be. I need to take you in.” He steps closer to Dirk, keeping the gun as level as possible despite his trembling hands. 

Dirk’s next words are cold, calculating, testing. He grips the laptop in his arms. 

“If you really ever loved me, Jake, let me go.”

“What?” Jake gasps, strangled sound. 

“I said,” and there’s bite, “if you ever loved me, let me go.”

Jake sucks in a breath. “I loved a _lie_.”

“And I loved a monster.”

It’s a direct shot, pinpointed at Jake’s soul, affirming that haunting whisper coalescing inside him.

_You’re a monster._

He recoils. “I love-loved you, Dirk. But… you’re not real. Dirk Lalonde,” the fake name sounds awful on his lips now, “doesn’t exist. None of it was real.”

“You don’t know that.”

“ _I don’t know who you are._ ”

Dirk’s head snaps to the side and he closes his eyes, and Jake can’t tell if he’s trying to say something more. 

“Dirk,” he moans. The game is coming apart at the seams. “Oh, god, Dirk. Please… don’t make me do this.”

“I’m leaving, Jake. I’m not going with you. You’ll have to shoot me if you want to take me in.” 

That’s the line that finally hits Jake with the clarity of the situation. “I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Dirk.” 

“Then _let me go_.” 

The standoff continues, Jake just holding the gun in the air and Dirk waiting for him to come to his conclusion. 

Jake sees the hate in his eyes that once matched his own. How could Dirk have ever stood that coming from him? It sears Jake to his very core, seeing the one he loves look at him like that. 

He lowers his shaking hands, dropping the gun and looking down at the table. With one sharp motion he jerks his head toward the door. A sob is dangerously close to ripping from his chest. He won’t be able to keep it together for long. 

Dirk grips the laptop and steps into the threshold of the hallway, but then stops and looks over his shoulder. 

“For what it’s worth… I thought I loved you too, Jake.” 

And just like that, Dirk Strider walks out of his life.


	10. Interlude: Move to the Ocean

**UPLINK STATUS:**

**CONNECTING . . .**

**ESTABLISHED.**

**ENCRYPTING . . .**

 

Hey.  


sup where’d you go  


missed you at the drop  


Out of the country.  


wait what  


oh  


shit  


damn, sorry dude  


Yeah.  


Don’t say it.  


wasnt going to  


Sure.  


well then  


where will you go  


Probably going to lay low in the Caribbean for a little while. Extradition is a nightmare around there, and I hear houses are cheap in Bonaire.  


damn  


what even is there for you to do out there  


The usual when shit gets too hot. Run some phishing schemes, take some lowkey jobs once things quiet down.  


sounds boring  


It’s safer than staying in the States. Just saying, you should skip town too. They know about you.  


ehh  


i think ill take my chances  


still have some unfinished business  


Of course you do.  


Just don’t take any big jobs without me.  


i always do?  


Right.  


for the record i am sorry  


Yeah well for the record you were right. Send Rox my regards, will you?  


for sure  


stay safe out there bro

**CONNECTION TERMINATED**

 

-

Dirk stands with his toes in white sand, staring out at crystalline, tranquil waters. He wades into the warm ocean, hoping that it might be able to calm his stormy mind that rages on despite the serenity around him. The events of the last few days replay over and over in his head.

A single thought eats away at his brain: 

_Why hasn’t an arrest warrant for Dirk Strider been put out yet?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it doesn't seem like it now but I promise this has an eventual happy ending!


	11. Giant Blue Suite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake is (still) a mess, Karkat is dumb, and I'm having a lot of fun.

Jake stumbles into the office with unkempt hair, five o’clock shadow and purple, glassy eyes. 

He looks like a mess. 

Karkat stands up out of his chair and gapes at him. “What the hell happened to you?” 

Jake purses his lips and looks away. “Can we get a drink?”

Karkat pauses as he comprehends the question. “Jake, it’s eleven am, you’re three hours late,” he says incredulously. “I did my best to cover for your AWOL ass but I can only do so fucking much without my partner around here.” 

Jake isn’t looking at him, he almost seems like he’s avoiding his gaze. Karkat deflates a little, glancing down at his paperwork and then back up at the miserable person standing before him. He’d gone with Jake to bars to hangout after work and cases before, they’d only stopped recently when he’d started dating-- oh. Hm. 

Karkat was at fault too, when interactions with Strider had become weirder he’d started to avoid Jake because he was sure he would end up talking about it, and that was a topic he was not prepared to discuss, not now and not ever. 

Especially after that night the last week, when Strider had shown up in his home… 

When he thinks about it his blood pressure rises sharply with a quick release of adrenaline that subsides as soon as it happens. 

He should tell Jake. He should. He’s supposed to trust his partner. Although from the looks of it, this talk is going to be more about Jake than himself. That’s fine, he’s willing to put that conversation off for as long as possible. 

“Okay, we’ll get your drink,” he says unsurely, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and shuffling around his work space. 

Jake nods and without a word they make their way out of the building to the homely pub one block away, sitting down on the bar stools a bit away from other patrons and the bartender’s main post for privacy. 

Jake orders a double whiskey neat. Christ. 

Karkat gets a single. He’s still is disarray from the last few weeks, but not quite that bad. Well, in more than disarray, but over time he’s gotten pretty damn good at shutting it all away. It’s a necessary skill. Overall he’s come to terms with how shaken up he had been by Strider, but the other night after tearing off his clothes and jumping in the shower he’d been able to tell himself it was a momentary lapse in judgement, maybe a second of insanity struck up by his adversary. For now, that was neither here nor there. He was much more at ease not thinking about it. 

They don’t speak until they get their drinks, at which point Karkat watches Jake take a long sip before setting his glass heavily on the wooden bar. “What happened the other night?”

Jake won’t look at him. “You first.” 

Karkat twists his mouth. “I’m not the one who disappeared like our marks at the scene of the crime. I went back out after Strider escaped only to hear you took off for the hills like a bat out of hell.” 

Jake nods glumly, eyes still downcast into his drink. “Sounds about right.” He takes another sip. Karkat imagines the it must burn, but Jake seems so numbed out he might barely even feel it. 

Karkat is not expecting the question Jake asks him them. “What is the worst thing someone you love could do to you that would make them unforgivable?” 

It’s so unexpected Karkat recoils and turns his head to look at Jake disbelievingly. “ _What_?” 

Jake drops the glass on the bar again and lets his face fall into his hands, covering his eyes. His shoulders give a quick jolt, holy shit he might actually be crying. Karkat glances around uncomfortably to make sure no one else is looking before putting his attention back to Jake.

“Dude, what in shitting hell are you talking about? You haven’t killed anyone have you?” He asks, dropping his voice and scooting a little closer on his stool. 

Jake takes in a shuddering breath, moving to just rub at his face miserably. “I did something, very bad, to someone I love. I… I hurt them, Karkat. I hurt them, badly. And I can’t take it back or even talk to them… And oh, oh lord, I don’t know what to do. I’m a monster, I never deserved his love…” A choking sob breaks out of him.

Karkat is for a moment at a loss for words. He hesitantly reaches out and thumps Jake on the back twice. “Jake, come on man, get yourself together.” 

Jake wheezes harder into his hands. Karkat rubs at his back instead. He’s not particularly good at comforting people, and this is rather uncharted territory with Jake English of all people. 

After a few moments Jake manages to mostly collect himself, wiping obvious tears from his eyes. Holy shit, he really is crying. What the hell happened to him? What did he do? 

Karkat doesn’t know how he missed it before, the obvious guilt and tension that had been lining Jake for awhile now, coloring his every move. Karkat remembers how on edge he had been for a while now, his face whipping nervously up every time someone would walk into their shared workspace, his hesitancy when working on their cases and following up leads. 

Jake shakes out a few more wheezy sobs before managing to speak coherently again, taking a few shuddering breaths to compose himself. “I did something to… someone.” He says ominously.

“Uh… okay…” Karkat draws out, unsure of where this is going. He’s definitely getting the idea that Jake did _something_ , but he’s got no clue as to what it is.

Jake rubs at his eyes. “I uh. It’s not that they didn’t hurt me either per say, I just... Well let’s just say what I did was pretty friggin’ bad. But they… boy did they pull the wool over my eyes.” He nods as he recalls. 

“Jake, you’re not making any sense.” 

Jake is frowning so deeply it rivals Karkat’s ability to frown. “Where do I even begin…”

Karkat waits. 

“Has someone close to you ever deceived you?” Jake asks suddenly. 

Karkat has no clue what to do with these massive, out of left field questions Jake is launching. But this one he can answer. “Yes, actually.” 

Jake looks at him, clearly not expecting the affirmative to his practically rhetorical question. “Really?”

Karkat shrugs. “Yeah.”

Jake is staring at him, waiting for the explanation. Karkat purses his lips, considering. “Old girlfriend. Real nice and sweet. Turns out she was running an underground fight ring with an old flame, who she claimed to be just friends with. But uh… you know how it is. Once I found out I just couldn’t go back, couldn’t see her the same way.” 

“Did she… ?” There’s a question there, not entirely spoken. 

Karkat shifts uncomfortably. “Did she cheat on me? I have no clue. It didn’t matter.” 

“But then why didn’t you forgive her?” Jake presses. 

Karkat is taken aback by the urgency of it. “Because… What we do is dangerous. I didn’t want someone with the same energy of work to come home to, I wanted something simple.” Had this statement been admitted to Kanaya, she would be looking at him suspiciously as if to say ‘ _Are you entirely certain of that, Karkat_?’ “How can you have something simple when they hide half of their life from you?” 

Karkat does want something simple. He doesn’t want lies or shadiness. He’s reminded of his earnest library companion, someone he’d been intending to get to know better outside of their usual meeting time. Now’s not the moment to be thinking about it. 

Jake looks back at his drink. “I sure felt the same way, chum.” 

Past tense.

Jake is looking thoughtfully into his drink now, seemingly calmed. “Someone I love decieved me, but in turn I did something terrible to them.” He sighs heavily, “Believe it or not, they did the same as you said. They had a whole other life I knew absolutely nothing about, never breathed a word. Never tried to explain.” 

Karkat lets the words linger in the air as he hesitantly asks the next question. “And what did you do?” 

Jake hunches forward face collapsing into a hand. “I… I assaulted him.” 

_Him._ He’d mentioned ‘his love’ earlier, but this is a further confirmation nonetheless. Karkat can guess who he’s talking about. 

That doesn’t detract from the shock of it. Karkat had never known Jake to be violent. He can’t process Jake beating someone, let alone someone he cared about. Jake had always been pretty damn uptight, but so was he. Though… Karkat recalls how Jake had been in regards to pursuing the Striders, how angry he’d been when duped time and time again. Like a festering wound. Karkat had never thought much of it, but now it makes him still and wonder who the hell his partner is. Or what the hell had happened. 

Jake is crying again. 

If Karkat is reading it right, someone had lied to Jake and Jake had assaulted them for it. 

_There is no eye for an eye_ , he wants to say. It wouldn’t help. Jake is clearly very guilty about whatever occured. 

“It was Dirk, wasn’t it?” Karkat offers. He’d never met the guy. Just heard about him. 

Jake full-body flinches. 

That’s certainly an affirmative if Karkat’s ever seen one. “Jake, I don’t understand. What the hell happened to you guys?” 

Jake speaks through tears. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” 

“Well, try.”

Jake shakes his head. “He left me and I deserved it. After all that I don’t know if I ever knew the _real_ Dirk, or if it was all just a lie from the beginning. But I still… I still want him. So badly. I want to make things right but I don’t know how.”

 _You can’t make things right,_ Karkat wants to say. _You assaulted him._

He still doesn’t know the whole story. Is Jake truly unforgivable? He’s the wrong person for this conversation. Well, he was always going to be the wrong person for this. 

“I wish I could tell you an easy way to make it all go away but… I obviously can’t.” He doesn’t even want to press with more questions although he would like to know more. Jake English clearly has something insidious lurking under the surface and he’s not eager to release it. 

Jake nods. “I know, I know. Thank you, though.”

“For what?”

“For listening. And not telling me I’m the scum of the earth.”

Well, even if Karkat was thinking it, he would never say it. 

Perhaps Dirk is more forgiving than he is, anyways. 

 

They finish up their drinks in companionable silence as Jake silently cries himself out. Karkat is thankful that he’s not expected to tell Jake what happened with Strider over the weekend. 

Strider had shown up and just… watched him. Sure, there was an exchange of the usual taunting banter, but Strider didn’t approach him this time. 

Karkat absolutely was not disappointed. 

It was killing Karkat to not know what was under that mask. Was he smiling? Karkat already knew the face under it was plenty punchable. 

This is why he was intending to ask Dave out. Dave was easy-going, clearly an uncomplicated person. Karkat did sense an undercurrent of interest there as well, otherwise he would have never jumped to the conclusion that he should do this. 

He mostly just needed a reminder to himself that he didn’t want the insanity and internal chaos Strider struck up in him. He needed someone who was the exact opposite of that. 

Someone who works in a library fits the bill. 

-

Jake doesn’t go straight back to the office with Karkat. He excuses himself to visit a friend, or more specifically his friend in cryptanalysis who holes himself up in a darkened closet to do his work. 

Sollux almost stands when Jake opens the door and is sure to shut it behind him. 

“Was waiting for you to show up. Do you want me to put out an alert? I already have the warrant paperwork--”

“Delete everything,” Jake says.

“ _What?_ ” Sollux says after a pause, incredulous. 

“I was wrong,” Jake says, downcasting his eyes. “It was the wrong guy.” 

“Sure as hell didn’t sound wrong to me the other night. I did some other poking around, and you are not gonna believe the--” 

“It was a dead end,” Jake says, finally looking up as he imbues his words with meaning through gritted teeth. “I think you should delete everything we spoke about the other night. It would be best if there wasn’t a record of it.”

Sollux stops talking to gape at him and meets his eyes. Jake gazes back at him, with many things unsaid in his hardened expression. 

“Christ, okay,” Sollux says, leaning over his desk on elbows and rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I’ll delete it all. But you still owe me a fucking favor.” 

-

As he’s working, Karkat traces Dave’s form with his eyes. What a strange person. He’s obviously attractive, but almost exclusively seems to hide behind those thick rimmed glasses and lofty sweaters. He shies away from talk about his life outside of the library. Karkat finds this to be enigmatic, but it’s probably just because he knows next to nothing about him. Maybe he is as uninteresting as he makes himself out to be. Either way, whatever attraction there will probably fade after he gets to know Dave better. 

For now, this could either go really well or very poorly. 

_You’ll never know unless you ask._

“Do you want to go out sometime?” Karkat says. 

Dave lifts his head up from his phone to look at him. “Uh, what?” 

Karkat tries not to sigh with frustration. “I said, do you want to go out sometime.” 

Dave’s eyebrows come together in confusion before relaxing. He laughs, a quick incredulous exhale paired with a grin. “What? Wait, are you asking me out?” He laughs in disbelief again. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s what that means,” Karkat sighs, sensing a rejection. It’s alright, it was a long shot anyways. Of course he can’t have anything _normal_ in his life, like a regular date, right? “If you’re not interested please just say no already.”

“No! No it’s not that,” Dave says, _still laughing_ with those short breaths. “I just, I just, uh, shit dude. How did you know?” 

Karkat has to think for a second to understand what exactly he’s asking. “Jesus, dude. I work for the FBI, figuring out someone’s interests is practically in the job description.” 

Dave laughs again, even louder this time. He’s being particularly noisy despite all his usual admonishments for them to be quiet. “Oh, god. I can’t-- Oh man. Sorry, not saying no, just uh-- why me?” 

Karkat frowns. Why Dave? It was a good question. 

_Because you seem normal. Because I need a reminder of what normal is. Because there’s no one else I talk to outside of work. Because I don’t understand you._

None of the reasons, or none of the real reasons, seem like a good answer to his question. 

Karkat bluffs. “I had a hunch that it was why you’ve been so helpful, thought you might have an ulterior motive. Was I wrong?” 

Dave keeps smiling at him. “.... No, you weren’t.” 

“Do you want to go out sometime or not, holy shit.” 

Dave’s toothy grin flattens into a close-lipped smile. “Yeah, alright. We can do that.” 

-

Dave wears almost the same sweater and glasses Karkat is used to seeing him in. However, standing near Dave at full height, outside of their usual secluded working space, kind of throws Karkat for a second. Dave is taller than he had previously thought. Broader, too. Karkat finds himself wondering why (or _what_ ) Dave hides under those sweaters. 

He might have the chance to find out, anyways. 

Dave oddly keeps trying to smother a grin on his face, however many times it reemerges. Karkat is glad Dave seems happy with the turn of events, but there’s a level of amusement with the situation he’s hiding poorly. 

When they’re finally seated without menus Dave shifts and sits up in his seat but doesn’t say anything. 

“You seem happy,” Karkat says dryly, willing himself to look at Dave. He’s used to seeing him sitting right next to him, not quite in front of him like this. 

“I, uh, I dunno. I’m kind of surprised still?” Dave says. “I just didn’t think I was your type.” 

“Surprise. You’re my type.” 

Dave snorts. “Are you sure? I always took you for the, uh, adventurous, danger-loving type.”

Karkat sighs and changes the subject. “You know what’s weird? I don’t think I know your last name.” He’d gotten his number after asking him out, but only put it in as ‘Dave’. 

There’s that grin again. “Really? It’s S- _Smith_ ,” he says, coughing halfway through. He reaches for the water and takes a quick sip before continuing. “Dave Smith is my name.”

“ _Dave Smith?_ Could you be any more generic.” 

“Wow okay I think you’ve just got different standards, _Karkat Vantas_ ,” Dave shoots back, saying his name with similar inflection.

Karkat smiles despite himself. So Dave could be funny, then. “Okay then, Dave Smith. What do you do outside of working in a library that’s _not_ completely generic and dare I say, boring?” 

“I read?” Dave says. 

Karkat laughs and manages to relax some, but he realizes then what Dave knows about him far outweighs what Karkat knows about Dave. It makes him vaguely uncomfortable. At least he can fix that, now. 

“Fine. What got you into the whole librarian thing?” Karkat tries. 

Dave exhales. “I get dental. Actually, it was the insane bread I rake in--” He pauses, blinking momentarily. “Why? Why did you get ‘into the whole FBI thing’?”

“Touché,” Karkat laughs. 

“Seriously. Why the FBI?” Dave asks again, in earnest this time.

Karkat shakes his head. “I know almost nothing about you. I get a few questions first at least.”

Dave shrugs. “... Alright. Hit me.” 

Karkat tries to get other details out of him but Dave is oddly tight-lipped on personal details. He covers his answers in jokes that are funny but uninformative. 

“You’re not telling me all of the story here,” Karkat says. “I’m just trying to get to know Dave Smith not-the-librarian, help me out here.”

Dave frowns and bites his lip before talking. “I guess I’m kinda boring then? I don’t wanna mess this up, it’s just like… I…. work in a library and you’re... a fucking FBI agent.”

Dave doesn’t exactly censor himself outside of the workplace, then. But he’s also not acting at all like Karkat expected. It makes him slightly uneasy, but he supposes it must be date anxiety. “So? What if that’s why I asked you out.”

He swallows. “I… I find that hard to believe.”

Karkat observes that Dave appears suddenly _nervous_. It’s a rash action, but he finds that he can’t help himself. He reaches out over the table and takes Dave’s hand, loosely resting with his wrist on the edge. Dave looks at Karkat’s hand on his, appearing mistified. 

“You don’t have to worry about messing anything up,” Karkat says and squeezes Dave’s hand.

Dave continues to stare down at it, seemingly at a loss for words. Karkat doesn’t know what to make of his apparent confusion, so he withdraws his hand after a few long moments. 

Dave starts to talk. He seems nervous. “I like games. Cars and bikes. Cracking codes, all kinds. I taught myself how to lockpick at ten. I used to read about famous criminals and all the ways they worked before they got caught. I draw sometimes. I’ve listened to police scanners.” It all comes out in a rush before Dave takes a deep breath and looking up at Karkat. “I--- uh. Yeah. That’s me, mostly. I work in a library because it’s convenient. Your turn.” 

Karkat blinks. “Oh. Huh.” His turn for what? Dave seems completely thrown, and the nonsensical question is tossed in Karkat’s direction. “I like movies. I watch way too many when I’m not working, which is… most of the time. I work way more than I should. I joined the FBI because…” He debates the appropriateness of telling this story on a date. “... When I was fifteen my dad disappeared. Turns out he was an internationally wanted thief. I had no clue. To spite him I decided to join the FBI.” He looks up from the table to see Dave staring at him. “Aaand that’s why I do this now. Never saw him again, though.” 

“What thief?” Dave asks.

Karkat grunts. “They called him ‘The Signless’, article included or not.”

Dave’s mouth falls open. “ _You’re the Signless’s kid?_ ” he asks in shock. Karkat winces. 

“Yeah, the Signless was my fucking dad. Can we talk about something else?” He regrets bringing it up, even though it was his story in the first place.

“I- what- no!” Dave says. “Holy shit, you’re the kid of the best fucking thief in history. They only called him the Signless because, goddamn obviously, he never left a sign he was there. Most thieves get cocky after so long, start developing little things that give them away. Like statues or notes. But not him! Holy shit, and he was your _dad_.” Dave nerds out about this new information before looking back at Karkat and seeing his clearly displeased expression. “Ah, sorry. Just, that’s fucking cool.” 

“It’s not,” Karkat mutters. 

It’s quiet for a moment. Karkat shrugs once before speaking again. “You’re not at all like I thought you’d be, but at the same time exactly what I expected.” 

Dave watches him. “How so.” 

“Nerd, but you talk like you grew up near a beach. You always wear those sweaters and glasses, almost like you’re hiding under them. You act like I’m not interested in what you have to say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dave says, suddenly tense. 

“Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to go analyzing you like that. You’re self conscious? Tell me if I’m wrong.”

Dave smirks, but doesn’t confirm or deny. “I’m from Houston, actually.” 

“Was that the only thing I was wrong about, then?”

He keeps that half smile. “No.” Doesn’t seem like he’ll elaborate. 

“Looks like I’m not as good at this as I thought.” 

Dave’s grin then has edges that could cut. “Maybe so.” 

The conversation waxes and wanes over the quick meal. Talking about crime is thankfully a good halfway point for them. They talk about murders and arson, but mysteriously toe away from anything relating to theft. Karkat thinks he must be doing it subconsciously, willing the conversation to stay away from his actual work. They talk about bad movies, about coding, about coworkers.

It’s nice. For a moment, Karkat feels relieved. 

Fuck Strider. Fuck everything he says. Karkat wants something normal like _this_. Nice conversation and companionship. Not… not whatever oversexualized nonsense Strider keeps trying to sell him. He doesn’t want that, and Karkat needs to stop falling into his trap, again and again. 

Propelled by this newfound reminder, he reaches out to take Dave’s hand after a moment of pause. 

“Hey, this was nice,” he says genuinely, folding their fingers together. Dave’s hand pliantly lets him, he appears shocked into stillness once more. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says, seemingly dumbfounded, but doesn’t move. 

A mercy or disappointment, Dave’s phone vibrates and he withdraws to check it with a soft, “Sorry,” and whether it’s an apology for checking his phone or taking his hand away or both Karkat isn’t sure. 

Dave peers at it for a moment, that same confusion crossing his face again. “Ahh… I actually gotta go. Shit. I hate to --” Dave stops and blinks, as if remembering something. He clears his throat before speaking again in a slightly higher pitched voice. “Sorry to dine and dash, but you know it is.”

It’s Karkat’s turn to be confused. “No, I don’t? What do you have to do?” 

“Something….” Dave stumbles to his feet. “Something came up. I really do have to go, I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

By the time Karkat is standing he’s already gone, and he’s not sure if that was a success or total disaster. 

He’ll find out soon enough. 

Later when he’s mulling over the evening and is struck with a resounding familiarity from that interaction, he scoffs to himself. 

_That’s crazy._

-

Jake had cried. Then that turned to hollowness. It was worse than any heartbreak he’d ever experienced prior. 

It just hurt so damn much, so damn much he didn’t think it would ever stop. 

He just couldn’t process any of it. He couldn’t fathom Dirk, his Dirk, and Strider being the same person. Even now as he went back and replayed scenes in his head from their relationship, he couldn’t make sense of it. Dirk had been so determined to love him, and Strider had seemed so determined to make him miserable. 

Had Dirk been remorseful? Was tricking Jake into falling in love with him supposed to be a form of repentance, or a continued joke? 

Had any of it been real? 

Then it cycles back, to the guilt of what he’d done to Strider, to Dirk, always coming back to the same conclusion that he had wronged him so irreparably that Jake should never be forgiven. 

But Strider had led him on, and Jake feels that hot anger again, and then-- 

_And the snake eats itself, and so on and so forth._

Jake wakes up with a heavy weight on his chest, just like the day before. 

Thinking about Dirk is inevitable, but dreaming about him is inescapable torture. 

The guilty dreams about his unfaithfulness to Dirk take on a new form, playing out like sickening fantasies. Jake feels haunted, waking up at odd hours of the night with an unwelcome bulge in his pants. 

The guilt is too strong for him to do anything about it, although he knows actually doing something about it would probably help. 

He gets up and goes about his day, trying not to let his thoughts vortex any more than they do now in his nights following the revelation. 

So he’d spared Strider a capture. It didn’t make them even by any means. No, if the world would let him he’d spend a lifetime trying to make it up to Dirk. 

No one would come after him from their end just yet, though he’s not sure how long he can help Dirk evade capture. His stomach drops the moment he realizes that’s what he’s now trying to do- he’s trying to help Dirk stay free. 

A week passes. He hears nothing of the Striders. Work is slow, with no new leads on their cases, and everyone waiting for some shoe to fall with the LCG case. 

The weekend comes around like a curse. 

Jake wakes up, still wrapped in the dream. It slips away like a lowering tide, but the imprint remains-- his abdomen is warm, he’s sweating, shaking, and most unwelcome of all, completely hard. 

Jake wraps a hand around himself for the first time in over a week and strokes, groaning out. Just like that, the dream returns to him. 

He’s got his dick in Strider’s mouth. It feels just like that night when he’d actually done it-- fucked his mouth and come down his throat like he was nothing to Jake. 

Jake continues to stroke, almost losing control as he vividly remembers. He strokes harder as the pace speeds up in his vision and he fucks even more roughly into Strider’s mouth. 

He sucks in a raw breath and continues on, faster. Why does it feel so _good_? 

He looks down at the masked man and the mouth he’s fucking and all at once the mask is gone, it’s just Dirk gazing up at him with those beautiful eyes, taking Jake’s cock as he rams it down his throat. Instead of wedging Dirk’s jaw open with his thumb, Jake has both his hands tangled in his hair, using the hold to ram Dirk’s head down on him. He’s merciless as he fucks into his mouth. 

He loves this. He loves fucking Dirk’s mouth like this but it’s so obscene and harsh and _wrong_ , and why does he love it so much? 

Oh, he can feel it, he’s going to come soon, from- from forcing Dirk to take him like this, rough and hot and wet and--- 

Jake comes, almost shouting into the night. He comes harder than he can remember as of late, even harder than that night. 

As he slows down and sucks air into his heaving chest, he stares up at the ceiling.

_Oh, god._

 

-

“I found something,” Karkat says to Jake over his desk, after many long minutes of deliberation about how to pitch the idea. 

“Mhmm?” Jake says, entirely disinterested. 

“Remember the night of the LeMausier theft?” Karkat’s stomach twists as recalls the events of that night, but puts that part of it out of his mind to focus on his point. 

“Yes,” Jake says then, barely a whisper. Then louder, “We’re not following leads from that anymore.” 

“Oh, you’ll want to hear this,” Karkat says. “A random assohole off the street can’t just make an EMP bomb, right?” 

“...Right.” 

“I did some researching on Google Scholar and found a couple of articles, but when I started looking at authors I found something interesting. Looks like there’s a bomb lab not too far away from here. Any interest in going and asking a few questions?” 

Jake levels an unconvinced gaze at him. “How, if at all, would that be helpful?”

“Jake, the Striders aren’t getting their tech in a vacuum. That bomb’s effects last for almost an hour. Maybe they know something or someone that can lead us in the right direction--”

“Oh, I think they’re a heck of a lot smarter than you think they are,” Jake interrupts, almost non-sequiturial. “I very well think one of them did it himself. What else would he be doing day in and day out? Reading Nietzsche?” He silences suddenly, as if cutting himself off from a further, and rather uncharacteristic, rant. 

Karkat’s eyebrows pinch together at Jake’s outburst. “Uh, something you wanna say?”

Jake frowns and leans back, looking at a spot on his desk with a perplexed expression. “No, no, my apologies. Please continue.”

“...Aaalrighty then. I say we head over tomorrow and poke around. Not like there’s anything here for us right now.” Their other task force cases were at a standstill until PD determined a recent murder wasn’t linked to the Caliborn Gang, even though it probably was. 

Jake sighs and hunches forward on his desk, considering. “Sure, why not. What’s the harm?” 

 

-

“Doctor?” The assistant pokes her head into the pristine lab through the glass door. 

“Hmmm?” The scientist responds, seated comfortably on a stool as she looks down through a microscope at a very complex, very compact battery. 

“There’s two people here to see you,” she says. 

“Do they have an appointment? Eh, doesn’t matter. Tell them I’m only doing research right now. I’m not making things for ‘interested private parties’ or whatever.” 

The assistant puts herself completely through the door and closes it behind her. 

“I don’t really know if I can,” she says.

“Why not?” 

“Well, you see. The thing is…” the assistant swallows and shifts uncomfortably. “They’re FBI.” 

“Oh,” Dr. Roxanne Lalonde says as she looks up from the lens. “Shit.”


	12. By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's in a name? 
> 
> Alternatively: Dirk fucked up.

Jake taps his foot impatiently on the tile. It echoes.

Karkat finds it annoying. 

Everything in the lobby is blinding white and that also annoys Karkat. He has the feeling that if his shoe were to track even a smudge of mud someone would run out and scrub it off. Who the hell is even funding this place?

“PyramidCorp... “ Jake scoffs next to him, staring at the sign. His eyebrows are furrowed when Karkat glances at him. “Say, Vantas, who did you say the name of our scientist was--”

“Hello, fellas! So sorry to keep you waiting!” The woman hurries through a door hidden in the wall, surprising them both. Her blonde curls bounce and heels clack loudly on the white flooring as she walks. She comes to a stop in front of them, appearing moderately flustered with her flushed cheeks stark against the white of her lab coat and lobby. She has it buttoned over a hot pink shirt that barely peeks out over the top. 

“Were we…. Interrupting something?” Karkat says. 

“Well I mean! I study bomb science for a living. Absolutely nothing that could be more pressing than answering a few questions for you gentleman,” she laughs, waving a hand to the side. 

Jake snorts. 

“Well, we appreciate you taking the time,” Karkat says, offering a hand. “Special agent Karkat Vantas, we’re just here to ask a few questions and let you get back on your way.” She takes his hand daintily before turning to Jake.

“Special agent Jake English,” Jake says as she reaches out. “And you are?”

“Oh!” The scientist laughs, taking Jake’s hand. “Dr. Roxanne Lalonde, PhD, if we’re doing titles and all that funny business.” 

Karkat watches as Jake freezes, locking Dr. Lalonde’s hand in his own. He’s staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. He doesn’t drop her hand, in fact Karkat swears that his grip tightens around her hand. 

“Excuse me, Mr., er, agent English. I’d like my hand back,” Dr. Lalonde requests, looking up and down between Jake’s shocked face and their clasped hands.  


Karkat coughs.

Jake sucks in a ragged breath and blinks, dropping her hand. “Right. Of course. My apologies, _Doctor_.” 

Karkat is taken aback by the snideness of the way he says her title. He tilts his head at Jake, looking at him as if to say ‘What the fuck?’ Is he doubting her credentials or something? 

Jake ignores him, only staring, no, _glaring_ at Dr. Lalonde like he’s got a grudge. That’s strange, Jake had seemed totally fine when they walked in there, as if he didn’t care how the meeting would unfold. Now he’s looking at their interviewee with more contempt than he’s had for murderers in their interrogation rooms. 

“Well then,” Dr. Lalonde says, brushing the hand down the side of her lab coat, as if wiping off Jake’s bizarre handshake. “Why don’t we skip up to my office?”

They follow her to the elevator at the end of the room. Karkat notes that while introductions occured, the assistant had silently returned to her post at the front desk. She ignores them as they pass. 

As they walk Karkat observes Jake, who looks like he’s trying to burn holes with his eyes into the back of her white coat. 

“I suppose a little bit of introduction wouldn’t hurt.” The scientist faces them in the elevator after pressing the button to bring them up to her office. “I did my undergrad at Princeton before I went and did my PhD at Berkeley. Who would have thought public school had the best physics program in the states! Anyhow--” 

“Dr. Lalonde, don’t worry. We saw your name on enough papers to know you’re the real deal,” Karkat says, cutting off what seemed to be the beginning of a rambling off of her accolades. 

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Oh! So I see you’ve done your research. Well then.”

The elevator doors slide open timely. She leads them out of the hall and pulls open a glass door.

Her office is a cluttered mess, clashing against the modern decor. Jake busies himself with glancing around the room with that same glaring expression Karkat can’t interpret, so Karkat watches Dr. Lalonde. She goes to a counter at the edge of the office where a decanter full of dark liquid sits. “Can I get you boys a drink?”

“No, thank you. Not supposed to drink on the clock, you know how it is,” Karkat says, becoming slightly irked by Jake’s continued silence. 

“Oh yes I certainly know how it is!” Dr. Lalonde laughs and pours herself a hefty glass of liquid. Karkat notes that her hands shake as she pours, though he assumes it must just be because of the heavy glass in her hands. 

He also notes that it’s ten am and that was approximately four fingers of whisky. Why the fuck is everyone suddenly drinking so early around him? 

She brings the glass back to the desk and plops it down on the surface and herself in the leather chair. Some of the alcohol splashes out on to a haphazardly organized pile of files on her desk. 

“What can I do for you?” She says, taking a long sip and staring up at Karkat. 

Karkat sits down in one of the chairs across from her and opens his mouth to begin questions but Jake speaks instead. 

“Do you think Lalonde is a common name?” Jake says. 

Karkat tilts his head up to look at him with a bewildered expression. That question had absolutely nothing to do with what they came there for. Jake is still glaring at the scientist, his arms tightly crossed against his chest. 

Dr. Lalonde peers at him. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Sorry, I thought you were all here for my research?”

Karkat clears his throat loudly, trying to get Jake to realize what he’s doing and knock it out. “Yes and no. Dr. Lalonde, we’re following up on a theft of some very expensive and valuable artwork. The night it was stolen, the perpetrators employed a very specific bomb, an EMP. They knocked out all electricity in a five mile radius for, how long was it again, Jake?” 

“Half an hour,” Jake growls, still not taking his eyes off Lalonde. 

“Right,” Karkat says. 

Dr. Lalonde continues to take unnaturally large sips of her beverage as she listens and looks between them both. 

“It appears that you are the leading expert in wave energy, so tell us. How were they able to do that?” Karkat finally asks. 

Dr. Lalonde grins and laughs once, breathily. “Well, you see,” she begins. “I don’t know. Electromagnetic pulse energy specifically refers to _short_ bursts of energy. What you’re talking about is another matter entirely.” 

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Jake scoffs next to him under his breath. Karkat glances at him, giving him an incredulous glare and shake of his head. Jake notices and only shuffles his stance and re-crosses his arms, still not dropping his clearly vexed stance. 

“I don’t understand, how were they able to do it, then? If you’re telling us it’s not possible,” Karkat continues. 

“Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t possible! I just said that would make it something other than your so-called ‘EMP’, if it lasted for half a goddamn hour.”

Karkat frowns. “Then what would you call it, then?” 

Dr. Lalonde hums thoughtfully. “I think you’re just talking about electromagnetic radiation, then.”

Jake exhales angrily. “Vantas. She’s obviously running us in circles--” 

“Jake, calm the fuck down. We’ve been here for two minutes.” 

They glare at each other for a minute. Karkat tries to convey a silent dialogue of ‘What the fuck is wrong with you today?’

“I have work to do, if you two have something you need to work out,” Dr. Lalonde offers, swishing her glass. 

“No, we’re _good_ ,” Karkat grunts, looking back at the desk. “Alright. Considering the... parameters we gave you, what’s your best guess for how they did it?” 

“Half an hour, file mile radius… The only thing that could do that is vector. Honestly, they probably just used a block on the local power plant and took it off after. The alternative is just too complicated.” 

“... I didn’t mention, they also took out the glass and knocked our communications.” 

Lalonde puffs her cheeks out. “Tough shit, pal. My money’s on two separate machines.” She lifts the hand not holding the glass. “You see, when you make an EMP, you need a couple of things. You need an energy source, and a fucking lot of it. And then you need a pulse. And pulses are tough shit to calculate because you need a specific amplitude, wavelength, frequency, blah blah blah, all that very specific to take out exactly what you want. Now, if you want to take out the lights in a place like busting a fuse, that’s one set of numbers. If you want to take out things like communication, or even fry small batteries, that’s a whole ‘nother bunch of equations, and a fuckload more of power. If you want to do all that at the same time,” she slaps the hand on the desk, “One cancels the other out, boom, game over, nothing happens.” 

Karkat looks out of the side of his eye to see Jake pinching his gaze at the scientist suspiciously. 

“They had two machines, and neither were an EMP. Sorry boys, I can’t help you.” 

“She’s lying,” Jake spits suddenly. 

Both Karkat and Dr. Lalonde lean back in surprise, staring at Jake. 

“She made the machine. She’s lying through her teeth,” Jake says, gesturing at her and not breaking his gaze. 

“Oh, and you know this how? Because from where I’m sitting, I’m the only one in this room with a PhD in--” 

“You know what I think is funny?” Jake interrupts with an odd tightness in his voice, as if he might start yelling any second. “For such an esteemed scientist your office seems to lack anything of your personal life!” 

Karkat was completely lost. 

“Well, I like to keep my business and personal life separate,” Dr. Lalonde snaps back, a venom building in her voice to match to Jake’s. 

Jake steps toward the desk. “What are you hiding from what, then?” He asks, accusing her of something Karkat has no understanding of yet. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responds curtly. 

“Have you seen your brother lately?” 

“I don’t have a brother.” 

“Funny. What a strange coincidence. You know I wonder, for someone who _builds bombs_ , why don’t you call yourself an engineer? Seems more fitting than scientist.”

“It’s a _preference_.”

“So you don’t happen to _engineer_ special bombs for anyone? Makes me wonder where you get all this money for such a posh place, because the government certainly isn’t covering all this.” 

“Jake, if you’re gonna accuse her of something, you gotta back it up. This is one-oh-one shit here, man,” Karkat says, interrupting the standoff. 

Jake points a finger at the scientist. “She built the bomb for the Striders! I can prove it!” 

There’s silence in the room for a split second and no one moves. 

Dr. Lalonde stands up and slams her drink and palm on the desk. “Oh, goddammit!” She bursts out, “You’ll never find Dirk and Dave! Never!”


	13. The New Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now I'm standing back from it, I finally see the pattern_  
>  _I never learn_  
>  _But my love, he doesn't love me_  
>  _So I tell myself_  
>  _I do, I do, I do_  
>   
> 
>  
> 
> [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSJpnjmqGkY)

_“You’ll never find Dirk and Dave! Never!”_

 

She immediately sucks in a deep breath, her eyes going dinnerplate wide as she comprehends what she said. “Oh shit.” 

Jake suddenly goes limp, the fight going out of him at her words. 

And Karkat…

“Did you just say _Dave_?” 

“I want my lawyer,” Dr. Lalonde says quickly, sitting back down. 

“You just said…” Karkat stands up out of his seat, a sudden wildness in his eyes. “Dave… Oh god. Oh god. I need…. I need to go. Holy shit I need to go.” He wheezes once, swaying on his feet. 

Jake glumly looks at him. “What’s that?” 

“Jake, I need you… You need…. You need to arrest her. Or keep her here. Or… or… oh my fucking god. Make sure she doesn’t talk to anyone, no communications in or out. _Holy fucking shit_ ,” he commands shakily as he stumbles towards the door. 

It is apparently Jake’s turn for incredulousness, as if he suddenly was the one in the right state of mind between the two of them. “I can’t make the arrest without--” 

“I don’t care!” Karkat snaps. “I need to go!” 

“You’re leaving me? Again?” Jake yells back. 

It’s too late, Karkat is already out the glass door, praying and hoping he had never been so wrong in his life about something. 

 

-

He hadn’t texted Dave after the… outing. Dave hadn’t texted him back either. It’s fine, it had only happened a few days ago, and Karkat hadn’t gone to the library the day before, so he hadn’t had reason to see Dave… 

Because he’d been nervous to see him. 

Dave had just left him that night. 

Why had he just _left_?

And now… Karkat shudders as he takes out his phone, sitting in the car and finding himself unable to leave. 

He couldn’t be angry yet. He was too shocked. Too much in disbelief.

He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t… they couldn’t be the same person. 

How could the glasses and sweater wearing high-pitched nerd be the same guy as the one who… who… viciously tied him to a chair for an unwanted blowjob and then made off with several million dollars worth of precious artwork? 

His fingers shake as he pulls up a message to the contact in his phone. 

_Strider is five foot eleven._

Dave is… about that tall. He’s always hunched over, it’s hard to tell. 

_Strider weighs about a hundred and seventy-five pounds._

Dave could easily weigh that, though it always seemed he was hiding a thin form, not a bulky one. 

_Strider is probably twenty six or seven._

Dave could very well be in the ballpark of that. Karkat had never felt it important to ask. 

 

 **11:30 am**  
_Karkat_ :  
WILL YOU BE AROUND TODAY?

 **11:33 am**  
_Dave_ :  
at the lib? yeah man i work there. why?

 **11:35 am**  
_Karkat_ :  
I NEED HELP ON SOMETHING. 

**11:35 am**  
_Karkat_ :  
FINISHED EARLY TODAY. 

**11:36 am**  
_Dave _:  
come on down B) __

____

____

 

Fuck.

He has to be Strider.

There is no other answer.

 

Karkat has to meet with him and somehow _not let on that he knows_.

Jake better not let that scientist out of his sight. 

-

Karkat can feel the weight of the handcuffs in his back pocket. At the moment it feels heavier than that of his gun, which is comfortable at his right hip. 

“Hey!” Dave smile at him as he slides into the chair next to him, business as usual. 

Karkat tries not to jump, his fingers frozen over the key of his laptop that he brought. Couldn’t let Dave figure out anything was up, right?

“Sorry I had to uh, dine and dash the other day. Can I make it up to you?” Dave launches in, pushing his heavy rim glasses up his nose. 

_Is his voice actually that high, or is he forcing it?_

Karkat struggles for words, his eyes searching violently over the screen as if it would offer him an answer. “It’s okay,” he finally says. 

“What?”

“I mean, uh, it’s fine. You don’t have to do anything. You know. I…” he sucks in a breath and makes himself look full on at Dave. “Yeah, actually. I need to tell you something.” He motions a hand for Dave to sit closer to him. 

“Uh, okay,” Dave says, flashing a grin at him and flattening it quickly, leaning forward towards him. 

It’s suddenly too real. He has to make this decision. 

“I, uh. Oh god. D-Dave. If I’m wrong about this…” _Please be wrong please be wrong please be wrong_ “I hope you’ll forgive me.” 

In one quick motion he yanks out the handcuffs, slinking one on Dave’s right wrist resting comfortably on the table, and the other onto Karkat’s left.

Dave freezes, staring down at the silver, glinting metal linking them together, before his face breaks out into the widest grin that could possibly ever fit on his face. 

“Oh, _Karkat_ ,” he nearly purrs, his voice suddenly registering octaves lower than before. He lifts his eyes to meet Karkat’s, expression unchanging from that wolfish smile. 

“I thought we’d been over this before.”

It happens so fast. Dave steps up out of the chair, forcing Karkat to his feet with him. He pulls Karkat’s left wrist around his body and steps behind the agent, so that Karkat is being forced to choke himself by the handcuffed connection, holding the other end taut behind Karkat’s back. He pushes Karkat into the table edge with a push of his hips and takes ahold of Karkat’s opposite wrist around his body. 

Both his arms are made useless in the crushing hold. Karkat is locked in, his expression falling into full blown shock and panic. 

Dave-- Strider-- leans his head down over Karkat shoulder and presses a kiss to Karkat’s neck under his ear. 

Karkat can feel his stupid fucking glasses digging into the side of his face. 

“Took you long enough, babe.” 

Strider’s breath is hot in his ear. Karkat tries to talk and only a strangled wheeze comes out. 

“Mmmm, let’s see,” Strider murmurs, releasing Karkat’s right arm to trail his fingers down Karkat’s front, to his waistline, over his belt. 

His hand stops over Karkat’s crotch and he presses down. He chuckles lowly and kisses Karkat’s neck again. “I knew it. Fuck, I love how _hard_ you get when you’re like this.” 

Karkat shivers at the action, so reminiscent of Strider’s previous violations. 

“Aww, c’mon Kat, you don’t gotta be so uptight around me,” he continues between those surprisingly tender kisses along Karkat’s neck.

“Why do you keep doing this,” Karkat rasps. 

Dave sighs. “Babe, babe. We’ve been over this. _You like it_.” 

“I don’t!!” Karkat snarls. 

Dave only answers him with another grope between his legs. Karkat’s knees almost give out. 

_It doesn’t feel good_ , Karkat tells himself, gritting his teeth.

Dave-- Strider-- _Make up your mind_ \-- strokes again and so Karkat tries to elbow back at him with his freed arm, but Strider pulls the other wrist tighter, actually choking him now. 

“Nuh-uh. Not gonna fly, hot stuff,” Strider says. 

Karkat gasps as he feels his gun unclip under his jacket. He should move and try to fight Strider but finds can’t. He’s frozen, whether by shock or anger or something else he doesn’t want to admit. 

“Now we’re gonna take this nice and slow, Karkitty. We’re gonna walk outside together, holding hands like everything is all fine and good, and then we’re gonna go to your car and you’re gonna let me go. You do all that, and no one’s gotta get hurt.” 

“ _No_ ,” Karkat growls

Dave jabs the gun into his back. “Oh? Are you sure about that? I’m curious, are your entrails as pretty scattered over a table as you are?”

“You’re- You’re deranged.” Karkat tries to still his voice, but it shakes at the threat. 

Dave leans forward to capture Karkat’s earlobe in his mouth. “It’s just you that makes me this crazy, you know.”

Karkat does _not_ moan. “L-Liar. You’re fucked in the head, Strider.” Karkat’s body jerks once and Strider tightens the arm around his neck again. 

“At least no one ever bothered us over here,” Strider muses. 

Karkat sucks in a breath, trying to stop his words from trembling. “Let me guess, no one by the name of Dave Smith works here, right?” 

Karkat can feel Strider grinning behind him. “Never ever.” He jabs the gun into Karkat’s side again. “Now are you gonna play nice or am I gonna have to put some moves on you, sweetcheeks?”

Karkat squeezes his eyes shut, trying to wade through his thoughts. How did he let this happen? How did he not see it for so long? Had he really been so determined to be blind? 

He must have been, but he can’t think about that now. 

God, he told Dave _so much_. He told Dave so many things, like…

Like… 

He told Dave he _liked it_. That he’d liked when Strider tied him to a chair and shamefully invaded him. 

He sat side by side with Dave after having sex with him, _Strider_ , and the man gave no sign of what had occured save for small smiles Karkat wrote off as his usual disposition. 

He hadn’t thought about it since. He couldn’t deal with it. He didn’t know how. Karkat couldn’t explain why he’d done it. 

To top it all off, he’d asked Dave out to dinner. 

_Why did he ask Dave out to dinner_?

All his choices suddenly make no sense. Then again, they never did in the first place. 

Karkat collapses internally. He can’t do this, this can’t be happening, but the metal poking into his side says otherwise. 

“Just get it over with,” he mutters, going limp. Considering everything Strider knows now, this almost seems tame compared to what he could do. 

He can practically feel Strider grinning over his shoulder. The man releases the tension between their cuffed wrists and forcefully yanks Karkat around so they are face to face. Strider is lining his body up against Karkat’s. The handcuffs clink at his side, and Karkat wonders again why he thought that would have worked at all. He knows, though. He’d been in such strong denial that Dave was Strider, so he set himself up for this failure from the very beginning. 

Strider pushes himself up against Karkat and he stifles a small groan with a sigh. The thief brings up his cuffed wrist to cup Karkat’s chin, his own hand dangling uselessly as the gun pokes into his abdomen. 

Karkat expects Strider to kiss him. 

He doesn’t.

He looks straight on at the thief’s face, scowling. Dave— _Strider, goddammit_ — is giving him an insufferably victorious smile. Karkat grinds his teeth. 

“Take those fucking glasses off,” Karkat mutters.

Strider’s grin widens. “Aw, how do you know they aren’t real, babe?”

“Because I know they fucking aren’t. And stop calling me that.”

Strider snorts, still smiling, then picks them off his face and tosses the pair onto the floor. 

Karkat sees his entire face for the first time. 

He harshly sucks in a breath. The thief is more handsome than anyone should have any business being. Yes, he’d admitted Dave to be attractive before, even with those thick black rim frames obscuring half his features. But this is different. His eyes rove the man’s face as he re-familiarizes himself at close quarters. 

How did he not recognize that jawline? He thought he’d committed it to memory the night Strider tied him to that chair. 

Looking at him straight on like this, he swears that those chocolate brown eyes are _red_. 

He has long eyelashes and his eyelids crinkle slightly as he smiles at Karkat. 

And god, that _smile_. It makes Karkat want to simultaneously punch him the face and… _no not going there_. 

Karkat almost wishes Dave would kill him and put him out of his misery. He’s so mortified. Strider is pressing their hips together so forcefully Karkat wonders if the thief can feel Karkat’s throbbing, humiliating erection through his pants.

Dave seems to notice the way Karkat’s eyes take in his face. “A picture would last longer, but sadly I can’t get you one of those yet.” His smirk is obnoxious. 

Karkat frowns deeply, shocked gaze turning to a glare. “Just get us the fuck out of here.”

“As you wish,” Strider says, jabbing the gun into his stomach once more and leaning forward. He purposefully misses Karkat’s lips and presses them, almost fondly, to his cheek.

Karkat gasps as if the man had punched him instead. His lips hover there, breath warm on his face and he chuckles. 

Strider leans away while Karkat restrains his surprise. 

“Lead the way, hot stuff,” Strider says, stepping away. He links their hands, folding their fingers together. Karkat gulps as the metal continues to make noise, but Strider pulls him close to his side so their linked arms are pinned between them. Strider stands slightly behind him so that he can push the gun into Karkat’s side with his opposite hand. 

_Get us out of here,_ it says. 

The feeling of Strider’s fingers interlaced with his own is what throws Karkat off the most. 

He scowls and steps forward, beginning to make his way out of the building. He can’t believe how stupid a mistake this was- why had he thought this would be a good idea? 

Why had any of it been a good idea? 

Karkat’s eyes dart between the people around them as they pass through the lobby. Can they tell something is up? No one really pays attention to them, and the gun is heavy reminder for him not to act out. 

He doubts Strider would actually ever pull the trigger, anyways. He doesn’t know if that doubt comes from hope or something else. 

The silence between them is too strange. 

“So let me guess, this is the real you, right?” Karkat asks bitingly. “Strider?” 

Karkat can feel Strider smiling at him. “I don’t know. All of it’s real, baby. Was there something specific you wanted? I’d be glad to oblige,” Strider says, in that same self-assured tone of voice. 

“Fuck off. You’re fucking crazy.” 

“I really do mean it when I say ‘just for you’, you know.” 

He’s infuriating. Karkat has so much he wants to say to him. He wants to stop them as the walk and choke Dave with his own arm. He wants to-- 

He wants to stop confusing _Dave_ and _Strider_. _Dave_ isn’t real. _Dave_ is a made up person, fabricated by Strider, to keep toying with Karkat in more ways than he was willing to comprehend in the moment. _Dave isn’t real_. 

“My real name is actually Dave, by the way. Dave Strider is my full name, not that you’ll find it on any record or anything so it’s not like it matters.”

“ _I can’t fucking believe you_.” Karkat _shakes_ with anger and Strider only laughs softly. No, he’ll just be Strider from now on, that’s fine with him. 

“I’m still going to kill you,” Karkat mutters as they put distance away from the library doors. He leads Strider in the direction of his car as he walks. “Doesn’t matter that you have a gun on me now. You won’t always. I’m going to get you, one day.” 

“Frankly, darlin’, I’m not too worried about it.” Dave says in a drawl Karkat is completely unfamiliar with. 

He bites back words as they walk, so full of questions he knows are bad ideas to ask. 

They are bad because for many of them, Karkat thinks he already knows the answer. 

Like _Why me_ or _Why do you keep doing this_ or _Was any of Dave actually real_. 

That’s the one that scares him the most-- even now as he walks beside him, the denial of Dave and Strider being the same person is persistent. Karkat doesn’t know if that’s because he wants to deny he never put it together, or for another, far more embarrassing reason. 

He’d become fond of Dave, who had been built to ensnare him from the beginning. He’s gone now. There’s just no way the things Dave said about himself the other night could be genuine, because that would mean they apply to Strider. 

There was no way. 

When they finally get to the parking lot, Karkat makes a play for control. 

He elbows into Strider’s stomach and in the same action reaches around to wrench the gun out of his hands. Strider gasps and reacts immediately, throwing a punch straight into Karkat’s face that sends him stumbling back into the wall. Strider follows him up to the wall and shoves the gun into his throat. 

Karkat sucks in air, face stinging, as the metal end pushes in. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Strider says. “Don’t try to be a hero for once. You’re not one.” 

Karkat only scowls back at him. Finally, Dave reduces the pressure of the gun, but the threat of it still lingers between them. 

“I’m still something better than you,” Karkat spits lamely as they resume the walk to his car. 

“You were supposed to be _like_ me,” Strider mutters in response. 

Karkat goes still, stopping on their path. Was Strider referring to his dad? 

“Don’t you fucking dare. I’ve spent my life trying to hunt people like him, or like you, down,” he says, voice going low and vicious. He starts walking again.

“What? Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered before, what it’s like to be one of us. Oh, Karkat. If only you knew the rush you get when you get your hands on something pretty and get away with it. There is nothing better. Well, it’s almost better than boning you. Not quite.” 

Karkat scowls. He doesn’t want to put much thought into that statement, because he knows it will keep him up at night. 

Strider leans forward and kisses his cheek, right next to his ear again. “You were always better.” 

He does not shiver. 

They’re finally standing in front of his car. Strider steps away from him, stilling keeping the gun trained on Karkat. With his head he gestures to the car. “Come on, bro. Don’t keep me waiting. Get that key.” Karkat grumbles and unlocks the car with his free hand, and then unlocks the glove box. He can feel the gun trained on him as he moves. 

This whole thing had been a mistake. 

He finally pulls the handcuff key out and turns to Dave. 

Dave nods his chin at him. “C’mon dude. You know what to do.” 

His eyes locked on Strider’s with a glare, Karkat unlocks his wrist first, and then Dave’s. The cuffs uselessly fall to the ground. 

Strider is on him, pressing his lips to Karkat’s before they even clatter on the floor. 

For a moment, the weapon is forgotten as Strider takes a handful of Karkat’s hair and presses their mouths together and

He kisses Karkat

And

Karkat kisses him back. 

For the first time, their mouths meet for more than a half second. 

Karkat can’t help it. He breathes in the surprisingly familiar scent, letting his mouth form to Strider’s seamlessly. 

There is no fight for domination. They meet directly halfway. 

Karkat doesn’t know how long it goes on for. His mind blanks out as they move against each other. 

He runs his fingers through Strider’s hair. It’s as smooth as he thought it might be. 

Suddenly it’s over. 

Breaking apart feels like the moment when you swim under the ocean and finally breach the surface- everything above is so loud and harsh. 

He inhales sharply as the gun hits his midsection once more before Strider steps away. 

“Now I’m gonna need you to put your hands over your head and step away from the vehicle,” Strider says, panting from from the kiss like Karkat is. It’s meant to be mocking, but all he sounds like is breathless. 

Karkat’s thoughts have been obliterated. He follows the direction, taking a few stumbling steps back away from the car. 

Strider loops around, keeping the gun on him, and steps into the driver’s side. 

He pauses before getting in all the way, looking at Karkat. “You kissed me back,” he says. 

“I hate you,” Karkat says, his mind unable to grasp anything else. 

Dave-- Strider-- sighs as he looks at him and then down at the ground. He almost seems bizarrely disappointed, and it’s such an unfamiliar look on his face. “Of course you do,” he says. The smirk is quickly back on his face and he slips into the car. 

Strider pulls out of the parking space with Karkat’s car and speeds away, wheels actually squealing.

Reality is getting louder and harsher by the second. 

He needs to report a stolen vehicle.


	14. Convergence

Jake slides down into the chair across from Dr. Lalonde with a heavy sigh, his face falling into his hands. Abandoned again, it seems. 

At hearing _his name_ he doesn’t have much energy to act on anyone or anything, though. As if the word itself punched it out of him. 

_Dirk_. 

There was a very real, palpable chance that the woman sitting in front of him knew where Dirk was.

Not that he did a very good job of starting off on the right foot to getting that information. At first hearing the word _Lalonde_ he’d gone… a little over the edge. Made a few assumptions. 

It was just too spot on to be completely a coincidence. 

And so he’s pushed, and she had pushed back, and now he was in this unfortunate pickle— he’d been right, she did indeed know the Striders, in some capacity. It was now a matter of finding out how deep that relationship ran. 

The emotional tensions sure had started to run a bit high there, and Karkat’s swift departure had somehow managed to de-escalate it some, but not so much that Jake foresaw any success here. 

He rubs his eyes under his glasses as the scientist starts to prattle on, his thoughts beginning to swirl. 

“I’ll have you know my lawyer is Terezi Pyrope. You’ve heard of her, right? Best defense lawyer in our state. They say she’s better than all of OJ’s lawyers put together,” She pauses to let her point hit home. 

The silence hangs between them for a long moment as Jake inhales slowly, still not looking at her. He doesn’t care about any of that. He’s too busy thinking.

Half of his mind tells him he never wants to see the thief again, and the other half… aches for him. Burns endlessly. As he thinks back on that evening Jake only has more and more questions he wishes to ask Dirk.

But as the questions and days grow between the night it all came crashing down, Jake has slowly been afforded the ability to think about it. Time had allowed him to break it all apart, numerous times, and strip it down until he got to the core:

Jake wants to do more than truly apologize. A part of him wants to spend a lifetime making up to Dirk what Jake did. 

When he really looked at it, new pieces like that came to light, fitting together into a dreadful mosaic he formed himself. 

Dirk had never pursued Jake. That had been Jake’s doing, since the very beginning. 

What had it been, then? A cosmic serendipity? A joke? What had been the chances that he would set his eyes on his enemy and fall for him so quickly? 

Dirk, for his part, had never stopped it. He’d gone right along with it. 

The more Jake looked at it the more he knew: Dirk had never made Jake fall in love with him. 

Jake had done a pretty good job of that himself. 

It was not looking likely that he would fall out of that love anytime soon. 

Jake missed him so _badly_. It was misery, a constant cycle of waking and remembering and hurting, and the longer he straddled that thin line between hate and love the more they pressed together in one indiscernible mass. 

Dirk was Strider, one in the same, and when Jake envisioned that black mask before him again he was filled with both blinding rage and choking affection. 

It was impossible. It was madness. 

Dr. Lalonde exhales sharply, clearly waiting on a response from him. It draws him out of the cloud slightly. 

Does she know?

“Is Dirk alright?” He finally says.

Dr. Lalonde blinks. “I…” She fumbles for words, seemingly blindsided by the sudden change in his disposition. “Uh, what?” 

“Is Dirk… is Dirk Strider alright. Do you know where he is, if he’s safe.” His voice wavers dangerously no matter how hard he fights it. He runs his hands down his face to peer at Dr. Lalonde over them. The tension threatens to flow out, ruining any chance at information on Dirk he’ll ever get. 

This is his chance. If he can find Dirk… maybe he can make things right. 

Maybe this is a terrible idea. He doesn’t even know anymore, any and all logic fades away when faced with the idea that _he might see Dirk again_. 

She’s gaping at him like a fish, her mouth opening and closing several times. Her shock isn’t unwarranted. A moment ago the accusations had been flying about her potential intimate involvement with the criminals, as if he was trying to apprehend her for such activities, and now he was asking her if they were _safe_. 

Maybe he should be thankful Karkat left, though Jake knows an explanation for his behavior is looming in the future. 

“I don’t… I don’t understand… I thought you were FBI, how do you…”

“ _Please._ I need to know that he’s okay.” His voice is definitely shaking now, desperation apparent. He folds his hands together pleadingly. 

Her eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “I don’t…. How do you…” 

“Dr. Lalonde,” he begs, his tone reaching a pathetic level.

She throws her hands up in exasperation. “Listen man, you’re throwing around an awful lot of heavy questions for someone who was pointing fingers just a minute ago.” 

“I… _I’m sorry_. But there’s very… complicated events at hand here and--” 

“Oh, complicated? You wanna condescend to me about complicated right now? Is that what’s going on here?” 

He exhales in frustration. “All I want to know is--” 

“Jeez! Okay! You want to know how _Dirk_ is? I’m not my fuckin’ brothers keeper or whatever! It’s not like they drop in every afternoon like, hi sis how are you? It’s more like, hi I need a favor okay bye see you in three months if you’re lucky.” It all comes out in a rush before she pauses, stilling suddenly like it’s all catching up to her. “Okay wait a fucking minute, you know Dirk?”

“... I thought you weren’t related?”

“It’s complicated! How do you know Dirk?!”

“... It’s complicated.” 

They stare at each other. Jake chews his lip for a moment, searching her face for any signs that she might know more about Dirk’s whereabouts than she’s letting on. 

She has to know more. She has to. How does he get it out of her? 

“Listen… Uh. I’m not gonna talk and Iiii’m also gonna need you to leave. You can come back with a warrant but you won’t find anything. ” 

Jake frowns slightly, considering. “Oh yes I’m sure this little operation of yours is as clean as a whistle.” 

“ _With a warrant_ ,” she says again, but they both make no movement. 

Jake pauses, collecting his thoughts. His eyes flicker down to the ground and back up as he considers his offer. “Let’s say… theoretically, that you knew of Str— Dirk’s whereabouts. I could be inclined to let this slide.” 

She holds his gaze, her face turning to hard lines. “Fuck you, I’m not going to sell him out.”

Jake scoots forward in his chair. “You’ve already done that. Like it or not, you have our attention now.” 

Dr. Lalonde’s face flushes red and angry as she scowls. “You can’t prove anything.”

“I could be wired.”

“We’ll I’m pretty sure you’re not and uh, once again, Terezi Pyrope. You sure you wanna go to bat with her?”

“It’s still curious to me, how can you even afford a luxury such as her, doing only _research_.”

She’s full on glaring at him now. “I think you need to leave,” she says through gritted teeth. 

Jake maintains eye contact with her. He’s losing his chance, or lost it entirely. His own fault, really. He just could never help himself, could he? 

“Do you know where he is.” 

She holds his gaze with a deep frown. “No.”

“But he’s alright?” 

“I don’t know what you’re asking me, dude. Is he alive? I sure as hell hope so. Why? Why do you want to know so badly? Your questions sound a bit too chummy for you to just be, I dunno, hunting him down or whatever it is you do.” 

“... Because I’m obviously not, ” he says softly, downcasting his eyes again. Was it not obvious to her that there was something else at play here? 

When he looks up again Dr. Lalonde is staring at him in complete bewilderment. 

“Listen… I….” anything he tries to say makes him feel ashamed. It seems that Dirk never got the chance to tell her what had transpired, and there’s no way he could explain it himself. 

“You what? I don’t get it, are you a double agent or something? That’d be funny, I guess. Can’t say I’m totally surprised.” 

“No! We were....” Heavens above, how does he explain this? Is there any way to explain this that would end with her help and without himself in hot water? Was his only option force? 

The line of thought would sour his insides if he went on any longer, because maybe a part of him _wanted_ that, and Jake was still figuring out how to deal with this despicable side of himself that he’d recently been introduced to. 

“He was a close friend,” he lies. 

Dr. Lalonde stares at him doubtfully, sticking her tongue in her cheek and rolling it around before popping it out. “Yeah uh, no. Dirk doesn’t have…. _friends_.” Jake watches her form an opinion. “You know something I don’t,” she says, eyeing him. “What’s your part in this, blue boy?” She nods her chin in his direction. 

Jake swallows thickly, debating his situation. 

He can’t tell her. He can’t even begin to explain, or lie, or any of that. 

On top of that, she clearly doesn’t know where he is. This was a dead end… temporarily. There was nothing against keeping an eye on her, though it didn’t seem that Dirk was particularly communicative with her. 

Arresting her is what he should do. She’d already admitted her illicit involvement.

But what if Dirk found out? It’d just be an extension of the anger he last felt from Jake. 

There was no way to win this one. His heart sinks as he stands. “I… I believe I’ve said too much. I’ll do you a service and let your slip of the tongue there slide, if you would do me the same.”

Her eyes almost bulge out and she grabs the edge of the desk, looking as if she needs to stabilize herself from falling over. “What? Uh, no?! You can’t just—“

“Dr. Lalonde, please don’t make me regret this,” Jake interrupts curtly. 

Her mouth hangs open for a long moment before clamping shut. “... It can’t be that easy,” she says, a clear guilt there. 

“Don’t worry,” Jake says, though he’s not sure of the validity. “It is.” 

Somehow, he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last he’d see of Dr. Roxanne Lalonde. 

 

-

 

“Your car showed up,” Jake snaps as he enters the adjoined office, throwing a stack of papers down onto his desk. “They found it in the arts district, off of First and Grand. Totally abandoned. Your gun was in the glove box! What are the chances?”

Karkat refuses to look at him, only glaring at the floor as he leans on his desk, arms crossed tightly. He’s not even close to being in the mood for talking this out with Jake. He’s not in the mood to talk to anyone. He wants to be alone while he shovels his mess of thoughts away where no one can see them. 

“You mind telling me where on god’s green earth you ran off to and what the hell happened there, Vantas?” 

Karkat scoffs. It’s a relief his car showed up, but he’s still reeling. He’d come back to the office, filed the missing car _and_ gun, and refused to elaborate until Jake had been contacted to return. He’d needed time to think, or actually not think and avoid thinking about it, and now he had no clue what to say to his partner. His partner that he should trust. That he’d been able to trust before. But all this… he’d never trusted Jake with something like this previously. Could Karkat even now, when Jake had been so volatile as of late? 

No matter what, both had some explaining to do, and Karkat was not about to let him off the hook just because he misplaced his car. 

And gun. 

“I could ask you the same damn thing, English. What the fuck happened in that room? Did you completely forget how we do our job?” 

“From where I’m standing, you haven’t been doing your job for weeks now! Running off in the middle of cases, not being heard from for hours. Christ, Vantas. It’s almost like you don’t want to do this anymore!”

Karkat stands and steps toward him. “That doesn’t change the fact that we said one sentence to our contact and you flipped the fuck off the handle!” He feels anger rising up, yet unreleased as he reels from Strider’s departure. People down the hallway can probably hear them. 

“You’re the one that abandoned me in the middle of a questioning!” Jake snaps back. 

“You call that a questioning!?”

“She was telling us—“ Jake starts to say, even louder, before suddenly stilling. “...Oh.” 

Karkat scowls. “What, asshole?”

Jake speaks hesitantly. “...Who is Dave?” 

Karkat freezes as the word douses him in icy water. 

Jake notices his discomfort. “Karkat… what… what aren’t you telling me?” His voice shakes slightly. 

Karkat blinks and draws in a shuddering breath, deflating and averting his gaze. He swallows thickly before making himself look back at Jake.

“Can we get a drink?” 

-

“Partway through the Strider case, one of them… started following me. On jobs,” Karkat says. “I started to get suspicious he was engineering things so that we’d run into each other.” He can’t look at Jake as he explains. It’ll just make him feel like an idiot. He keeps his eyes on the bar, willing the words out. “Along the same time I made a new… friend. He wanted to help me with a project I was working on.”

Jake exhales softly beside him.

“Something you wanna say?” Karkat snaps.

“Nothing, nothing. Please, continue.” Jake sits beside him on the barstool, hand over his mouth. Karkat can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in his head. 

Karkat rolls his eyes but keeps talking. “I think you can guess where this next part is going. It-- It turns out they were the same person all along. There you go.” It’s not really an explanation, but enough for Jake to put two and two together. Karkat tilts his glass at him and then takes it back to his mouth for a sip. The strong liquor helps to settle his mind, burning his throat but somehow less than the admission itself. Thinking about Dave and Strider being the same person _aches_. 

It’s the betrayal of it. Anyone who’d been betrayed in that way before would hurt like this, right? 

“What are the chances…” he hears Jake mutter in wonder after a long moment. Karkat looks at him questioningly, letting his company distract him from the crush of thoughts about Dave... Strider. 

“Well then,” Jake sighs, seeming to make his mind up about something. “I suppose I haven’t completely forthright with you, chap.”

“Uh, what?”

“I think we both know I’ve been a bit out of sorts as of late,” Jake starts.

“To say the least.” Jake had been better over the last few weeks than before, but ‘out of sorts’ was still putting it lightly. 

Jake purses his lips for a second but otherwise ignores him. “It’s funny, how the universe works. Like it’s… like it’s laughing at us.” 

“Jake, get to the point.” 

“Right, right. I uh… Well...” 

Oh, no. Not the waterworks again. Karkat can see the pain filling Jake’s face. Jake breathes in harshly but seems to keep it together enough. 

“Ahhh,” he starts. “This is proving more difficult than I’d thought.”

Karkat waits in anticipation while he collects himself. 

“You know I’d been seeing someone, right?” Jake starts.

Karkat pauses as that registers. Of course he knew that. It was the same person he’d dragged Karkat to the same bar over last time for, except this time it had been Karkat’s request. His eyes flicker back and forth as he recalls their conversation…. Wait. 

Oh. _Oh._

Dr. Lalonde had said...

“ _Dirk_ , right? Holy fuck…” He’d had his head up his ass over Dave and had totally forgotten about the other name she dropped. 

Jake winces but nods. “That’s correct.”

Karkat wheezes. Jake’s boyfriend, or ex now, he supposes, had also been one of the Striders?

“You’re shitting me,” Karkat says

“No, I find I’m deathly serious, my friend.”

Karkat leans back in his seat, eyes wide. This was going to take a bit of time to grasp. All of it was going to take time. Sitting there in the bar, so mundanely, was like an out of body experience compared to what all had just occurred. 

“What did you do to him?” 

Jake’s mouth clacks shut. “Well, now…”

“Come on, Jake. Just the other week you had me in here with you while you sobbed your ass off because of something you did to him.” Jake frowns deeply at him but Karkat holds his gaze. “Are you going to be upfront with me or not because--” 

“Alright!” Jake almost yells. “I hurt him. When I didn’t know it was Dirk I hurt him.”

“Jake, Jesus…” Karkat says, letting his head fall into his hands. This new revelation is welcome, as it distracts from Karkat from his own recent unpleasant one. 

“I know, god, I know. I’m a rubbish human. And now he’s gone.” 

“Damn… How long were you guys together?” 

“Not sure, really. Half a year, maybe?” 

Karkat tilts his head to the side, calculating. “Yeah… timeline checks out.” If he remembers correctly, that had been about the time Dave had started appearing. Well, more specifically around the time they were assigned the case. “Wait, why’d you go off at Lalonde, then?” 

“Lalonde-- oh. The scientist. Dirk told me his last name was Lalonde.” 

“Huh. Not too common a name then.” 

“Not at all.” 

They are silent for a long moment. 

“How did we let this happen?” Jake finally says, a mournful rhetorical question. 

“We both got played is what happened,” Karkat responds glumly, holding his glass out to Jake’s. 

Jake sighs heavily. “That we did.” He clinks his cup against Karkat’s and they both drink.

“What do we do now? Do you think they’ll come back around, now that we both know?” The idea of Dave not coming back makes Karkat feel a pang of disappointment. It must just be at the prospect of losing a case and set of high-yield perps. Jake’s admission at least explained why the duo hadn’t been recently active, or at least locally active, to Karkat’s knowledge. 

“I think not. Probably best to… focus on other things for now.” 

Karkat thinks on it for a moment. “The scientist. Lalonde. Did you get anything out of her?” There’s an unspoken apology there, but Karkat isn’t going to outright say it. “Wait, why didn’t you arrest her?”

Jake stiffens. “She was a dead end.”

Karkat looks at him with surprise. “Really? I mean, she kind of admitted she knew them in the first place. I can’t see how that isn’t worthy of following up.” 

“I’ll be completely frank with you. She’d worked with them before, but had not spoken in months.”

“Yeah, okay. So why didn’t you arrest her. That was pretty fucking explicit aiding and abetting.” 

Jake’s eyes narrow to slits, and Karkat definitely knows something is going unsaid then. “Jake, what aren’t you telling me…” Karkat’s mind starts to spin on the reasons why he didn’t bring Dr. Lalonde in for further questioning. 

Jake exhales violently. “Our job has never been black and white. You know that much, at least. With-- With Strider. Dirk. I owed a debt. You must understand, Karkat, it wasn’t easy--” 

Realization blooms. “You’re trying to get him off the hook, aren’t you.”

Jake gapes at him.

“Jake, are you helping him? Did you let him go?” Karkat sounds more accusatory than he’d actually intended, but holy shit would this explain a lot. 

“No! It was just this once! The last time I saw him he got away, I swear to you.” 

“And you expect me to believe that because?!”

Jake glares at him. “I could say the same for you. Didn’t you just lose your issued weapon and vehicle in some rather mysterious circumstances concerning the other Strider, hm, only a few hours ago?” 

Fuck, he’s completely right. “That was different,” Karkat says quickly. 

“Was it really, Vantas?” Jake shoots back icily. “I still don’t know what happened when you ran off, but I do know you.” 

Karkat frowns, but is relieved when Jake doesn’t continue. Jake had called him out just as thoroughly. He hasn’t analyzed what just happened with Dave, but he at least already knows that he went down _without_ a fight. “ _Fine_. You still have a conflict of interest on your hands there, then, if you don’t repay your… _debt_.”

“I’m aware.” 

They sit back in their seats, calming after the aggressive exchange. “So what, then? Do we keep tracking them? Do you even want to keep tracking them?” Karkat asks. If he had been asked to answer the question himself he didn’t think he could. 

After the _chair incident_ , Karkat had wanted to find Strider so badly. He’d wanted him to pay for what he did. But now when he thought about facing Strider in the black suit, knowing the face who was under it, he didn’t think he could. Why not, though? Dave, or at least the ‘Dave’ he thought he knew, didn’t exist. He needed to destroy the memory of him. Maybe when he did that he would be able to focus on catching him again, without any other unnecessary involvement of emotions. It was bad enough that Karkat let his feelings interfere with his work even a little bit like Jake had.

Jake looks down at his hands. “Right now? No. I think I’d rather get taken out by one of Caliborn’s assassins than keep tracking that trail. It’s still all… a bit fresh.” 

Karkat finds that he agrees completely. But would Jake ever want to continue? “We’ll have to give a statement. Say they left town,” Karkat says. Did Dave leave town? Did both of them? Did Strider leave town, he mentally corrects himself. 

“No, that opens up too many questions,” Jake says, shaking his head and looking off thoughtfully. At least he seems to be on the same page about not letting this get out.

“Well, what then? It’s still our case. Do we wait and see if they show up elsewhere? They’re gonna want us to follow them.” 

“I know, I know. Sorry, I just, I haven’t thought about it, you know?” 

Karkat does know, because he hasn’t really thought about it either. He hadn’t had time to process it. Did he even want the case anymore? They could be transferred, but when Karkat actually thinks about not being assigned to the Striders anymore he feels even worse. It would be another agent’s job. Was it the fact that he’d lose his chance at closure? He wouldn’t be allowed to search for Dave, if Dave had actually left. It would be technically forbidden. 

They both lapse into a melancholic but companionable silence. At the end of the day, both of them had been screwed. 

Karkat turns to face him full on. “Jake, be honest. Do you still even want to be on this case?” He points one finger down on the bar surface, tapping it. 

After a long moment, Jake answers. “Yes,” he says, immediately pressing his mouth into a fine line. He looks at Karkat. “Do you?”

“...Why wouldn’t I?”

As they meet each other’s eyes they both know there’s much still unsaid. 

For now, that’s alright. For now, they have time.


	15. Divide and Conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an expo dump before shit heats up again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Divide and Conquer - What So Not](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kw9qVnWBpM)

They decide not to report on the Striders. Jake helps Karkat compose a story for the missing car and weapon. It’s some sort of unspoken alliance, even though Jake knows he can’t trust Karkat and probably vice versa.

Nothing matching the Strider MO turns up on their radar for a week. It turns into time helping out with other smaller cases and putting off researching their main cases… and at the same time, not doing so at all.

They’d said they would take a break from searching. Jake had told Karkat he wouldn’t be following anything the Striders. 

So one afternoon when he’s sure that Karkat has left for the day and Sollux hasn’t yet he dips out to visit his skilled friend.

Jake closes the door to his the darkened office and locks it from the inside, turning around to face his friend. 

“What the-- Oh, it’s you,” Sollux says, squinting over the top of one of his screens. “What do you want now? Don’t you still owe me a favor?” 

Jake pauses and holds a hand out. “Uh, yes, that’s right. But! I’ve got something new for you!” 

Sollux narrows his eyes to a glare. “Ugh, I can smell that this is already some bullshit from a mile away. No, English. Get the fuck out of here. I’ll let you know when you get to pay up.” 

“Hold on! You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

Sollux stares at him through thin-slit eyes. 

“I got clearance to some of the old Strider bots,” Jake says in a rush. 

“... The fuck did you just say.”

It’s a lie. Sort of. Jake had the clearance, but all the paperwork was forged and he was itching to get his fingers on the actual machines and hand them hand off to Sollux so he could wipe his hands of the illicit exchange.

“I’ve been trying to get my hands on that data for months. How the fuck did you get it before _me_?” 

Jake laughs nervously. “Well, you know how it is. It’s just about knowing the right palm to grease, isn’t it?”

Sollux is watching him suspiciously. “Uh, not in this profession, but go on. What’s your price.” He leans forward onto spindly elbows in interest.

“Well, you get to stick your fingers in the oh-so-classified robotic code the Striders had, and in return you report anything you find to me… with just a uh, little bit of that facial recognition tracking software you’re so fond of on the side.” 

“Uh… huh…..” Sollux says, nodding as he considers the offer. “Who’s the mark?” 

Jake bites his lip, shifting uncomfortably. “Ah, right.” With a heavy sigh he takes out his phone to open the single photo he has of Dirk, and slides it across the desk. He can still barely look at it himself. Sollux picks it up to examine it. 

“I don’t get it, dude. Are you stalking this guy? Wasn’t he your--” 

“I’m not!” Jake says quickly to shut him up. Every time someone even remotely hints at his ex-boyfriend his heart aches even more. “I’m not, I promise,” he laughs thinly. “Just following up on a lead!”

“The lead you told me to abandon _last time_.” 

“....Right.” 

Sollux stares at him before shaking his head to proceed with transferring the image over to his own hardware. “I don’t know what you got yourself mixed up in, English, but I don’t like it. Something tells me you don’t want this little side project here getting out to other people, right?”

“Yes, I would really, _really_ rather you not do that.”

Sollux turns towards him and holds the phone out. “Get me those robots and you got yourself a goddamn deal, English. Now get the fuck out of my closet.” 

“I thought you didn’t like us calling it that?”

“I said get the fuck out.” 

-

Karkat tries to focus his mind on anything but Strider. It’s an uphill battle. Jake is as aggravating as could be, and they both know there’s continued secrecy between them. 

Jake is moping and late one morning. “Pick up the pace,” Karkat jabs. 

“You know, Karkat, not everyone can just ignore everything like you do,” Jake snaps back. 

He has to. This time, if Karkat opened that box in his brain where he kept the word _Dave Strider_ locked away, he didn’t know what would come breaking out. 

-

While driving out to help with a different case, Karkat looks over at Jake, freezing at a stoplight. “Is that why they always knew what our plans were?” He asks suddenly. 

Jake slowly looks up from the file in his lap that he’d been distracting himself with but not actually absorbing any information out of. “What was that?”

“You were living with _him_ , right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that we were living together… Wait, are you insinuating that he used me to get that information?”

“It’s more than a little suspicious…”

“Oh, fuck off. As if you couldn’t be just as liable when the one was consorting with you just as often!”

“We weren’t together like you, asshat.” 

Jake snorts, but there’s hurt behind it. What if Dirk had been using him for information all along? That thought had persisted, for a time. Karkat was forcing him to consider it again. 

His relationship sure had _felt_ genuine, but he didn’t know for sure. He might never know for sure. 

A car honks behind them and Karkat hits the gas again, having not noticed the light change during their small argument.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he found out from you,” Jake comments. “You’re not as transparent as you think.”

Karkat scowls and drives on. 

-

Jake had a point. Karkat knew it. It bothered him so much because it picked at a fear of his.

Maybe he was never made for this job. Maybe he didn’t have a poker face at all. No matter how hard he tried to appear one way he never could fully pull it off.

A third week passes. 

-

“So you’re absolutely certain,” Karkat asks for maybe the tenth time, “That Dr. Lalonde didn’t have their whereabouts?”

“I already told you she only worked with them once!”

“She’s still a ‘contact’.”

“Karkat I swear to fucking god if you go over there and ask her--”

Their radios go off at the same time. _Go go go they’re in the house!_

Karkat and Jake stop and sigh, turning around the shack corner to storm the drug house they were in the process of raiding. It wasn’t necessarily the drugs they were after, though. They were busy looking for a greater source. In the moment, however, this is actually far in the back of Jake’s mind. 

Later when the dust has settled Jake approaches Karkat, still catching his breath. “As I was saying, if I get the inkling that you--” 

“Jesus save the lecture, I won’t go ask her holy fuck man,” Karkat interrupts in an annoyed mutter, catching on quickly. 

Jake is relieved, but still nervous. The two of them had already had that same conversation several times over, but he was worried Karkat would actually go over there. Not that there was much Dr. Lalonde knew that Karkat already didn’t, but he didn’t want the woman going out of her way to avoid communication with the thieves.

He’d been meaning to broach the conversation with his tech friend about bugging her place, or even infiltrating her computer system, but hadn’t gathered the right way to say it yet, at least on top of his current running favors. 

But there was a chance she’d talk to them eventually, right? 

-

“What did you say his real name was again, Jake?” 

“I never said.” 

“What was it then?” 

Jake sighs in annoyance from his desk. “Dirk Strider,” he says in a half whisper, as if saying it quieter would hurt less. 

“Damn.” Karkat says.

“What?”

“They were brothers. Guess I was right.” 

Jake wants to roll his eyes. He settles for not responding.

-

When Karkat postpones their meeting another week Kanaya puts her foot down. 

“I don’t care if it’s Starbucks or Ruth’s Chris steakhouse, we are going to sit down and you are going to tell me what the hell has been going on with you lately,” Kanaya says cooly over the phone. 

Karkat knows he’s in some kind of trouble. 

He tells her everything over a patio table while she sips iced coffee and watches him. 

“Goodness,” she says after he’s done giving her a similar version to the short one he gave Jake. 

“God, don’t rub it in. I can feel your smug from over here.”

She sighs and sets down the cup. Her long black dress flutters at her feet in the breeze. “I told you, Karkat,” she says. “You like dangerous people.”

“No! I don’t! I only was interested when I thought he was just some boring asshole.”

Her eyes flicker up to his. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive you had no indication as to what he really was? No part of you ever suspected there might be something else there that you were ignoring?”

Karkat doesn’t have an immediate response to that. He stills, putting a hand over his mouth as he thinks back. 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

Had he overlooked it, over and over again? Why? 

Maybe because he still denied that he had the problem Strider kept trying to make apparent to him. It was all tangled up together. But maybe answer was even more simple. 

Was it just the danger, or was it even more so Strider? 

 

Karkat had put the Striders away for the time being. Jake had agreed to do so as well, and they were able to work on other issues as they came up. 

But Karkat also isn’t as strong as he thinks.

He stops working on his project. The library workspace reminds him too much of the fake persona he befriended there. He hopes once this is all blown over he’ll get to finish it... but that isn’t looking likely. The whole root of it is a bitter one, anyways. Karkat only wanted to get his name out there so that his father would know he’d made a name for himself, and that Karkat condemned him and the world he abandoned him for. 

So instead of channeling his energy into that, something else fills it. Karkat starts to think about it more and more in the unavoidable empty spaces of his life. 

When he works out, when he showers, when he goes to work, when he eats alone.

_Dave Strider_. 

When anyone mentions the thief pair Karkat must be careful not to say the wrong name, because the word ‘Dave’ is on his mind a lot. 

Karkat begins to think about Dave constantly. 

 

It had started as a one-off.

Karkat wonders one morning what Dave Strider has for breakfast. 

The next day he has the same thought, and then he also wonders if Dave has an apartment anywhere or if he just stays in hotels. Does he have a real home? And how did he make his suit?

The next day, he thinks about how he made his other specialized technology. He thinks about if he likes to sleep in, is it because he stays out late to party? 

He starts to think about it all. 

But it’s not just these fleeting questions he asks himself throughout the day. 

Karkat occasionally imagines chasing down Dave. Not the man in the black suit, though. Just the thief himself. No mask, nothing. 

When he gets to him, he almost immediately sinks into the daze that is the memory of those too-fast kisses and the way Strider tasted. He thinks about handcuffing the thief and taking him even more roughly than the one night he actually did so. He thinks about how he’s never been able to manage to undress Dave with his own hands, and how badly he wants to touch him. 

Soon Karkat _can’t stop_ thinking about him. 

It’s embarrassing. He shouldn’t like this so much, not when it’s the antithesis of everything he’s supposed to stand for. 

Fuck, does it feel so _good_ though. 

It’s always worse in the shower, the odd one time where he ever feels completely alone. It’s there where the thoughts of Dave and Dave’s mouth and how he made Karkat harder than anything ever had before strike up the strongest. 

He wants to fuck Dave so badly. He wants to see his face this time, that beautiful face he’d ignored under that mask for so long, as Karkat fucks into him mercilessly. He thinks about holding him down, hands clasped tightly around the thief’s neck, while he thrusts into him with all the pent up anger of the revelations Strider forced on Karkat. 

Karkat wants to watch the thief fall apart for him. He wants to force Dave to endure something like what he did to Karkat. 

He just wants to catch Dave, Karkat tells himself. He just wants to catch this man that had been evading him for so long. 

He wants to be able to say ‘I caught Strider.’

He can’t put it back, now that it’s out of the neat little box he always kept so tightly shut after the thief started paying attention to him. There had been a time where he’d hated Strider, had only thought about him in the capacity that was required for his work, but this is different. 

This is suffocating curiosity, a mental cry for closure Karkat didn’t know he needed. 

 

“Jake, I want to keep working on the Strider case,” he finally says about a month after they agreed not to, trying to sound as unshakeable as possible. 

Jake looks up from an article slowly with wide eyes and an agape mouth, looking terrified before it snaps off his face. “ _No_.”

“Why not? We have both of their names. There’s a possible relation to Lalonde. All of this is worth more workup! This is the first time we have information that could finally lead us to them and we’re just sitting on it!”

Jake opens his mouth and closes it twice, his eyes darting around. “I just… don’t think it will get us anywhere. I mean, they’re cover names! It just doesn’t make sense to me that they’d give away their real names. Karkat, be realistic about this, please. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions around here, it only makes us look bad.”

“What the-- Jake! Our job IS to jump to conclusions!” 

Jake shakes his head looking back down at his desk. “If they show back up again, we can keep going on this. But until then, it doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

Karkat stays there for almost a minute, glaring holes into Jake’s head. What if they don’t show up again anytime soon? It had been a whole month already with radio silence. There had been whispers in their upper administration about putting their time elsewhere, and Karkat was glad for it because he was tired of playing second fiddle to other people’s work in their department. 

Fine. If Jake is still so determined to ignore _their_ case, so be it. Karkat can take the issue into his own hands. 

Strider has to show back up _eventually_.

-

“Karkat, you know you only come and talk to me when you need something,” Sollux whines in a deadpan when Karkat turns to face him after shutting the door. He doesn’t look back up from the screen as Karkat approaches. 

“Don’t give me that shit, dude,” he groans. “Listen, sorry, work’s been a lot lately. I just… okay, fuck. Yeah, I need a thing.” 

“Haha, I knew it. What’s up.” 

“I need you to start running some facial recognition on a mark.” 

“Who it is?” 

“Strider, fucking obviously.”

Sollux actually stops to look up at him, realizing slowly what he’s saying. “... Do you even have an image?” 

Karkat huffs, shoulders falling. “That’s the problem. I don’t, but I know how to get one.”

“Wait, what? How would you know who it is? I thought you’d like, never seen the guy’s face or something. Did you find him? How come everyone isn’t talking about this?” 

Fuck. He didn’t think this part through. “Listen, it’s just a hunch, okay? I need to make sure first.”

“... God, you are such a fucking bad liar.” 

Karkat scowls. “Okay, _fine_. Maybe I met the guy. It doesn’t matter! I don’t want this getting leaked out. Not until I find him again.”

“... Interesting.” Something passes over Sollux’s face, but Karkat can’t figure out what he’s thinking. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone, but you still need a face to run facial recog.” Sollux puts his lips to one side of his mouth. “That part’s a just a little bit of a contraindication.” 

“You’re the worst. Yeah, there’s some CCTV footage I know of that I need help going through.” 

Sollux sighs mockingly. “Alright, guess I’ll have to help you find that too, then. But first… whaaaat’s in it for me?”

“Of course you were gonna pull this shit.” 

“Hey dude I’m on salary, gotta make all your dumb little errands worth my while somehow. I got my own shit to go through without all of you piling on your personal requests.”

“Yeah, whatever. Here. I’ll get you a date with ‘Aradia who works at the morgue’ if you help me out with this.” 

“Damn, Vantas. You pull a hard bargain buuut I find myself unable to resist. It’s a deal. C’mon, over here.” 

Karkat wiggles around the desk to peer over his shoulder. 

“Where do you want to start?”

“Can you get the Doheny Library?” 

“Ugh, you and that stupid library. Alright, hold on.” 

Karkat waits, arms crossed, as he looks over his friend’s shoulder. If he does manage to find the footage, he sure will have to do some explaining to Sollux. 

“We’re in. What are you looking for?” 

Karkat thinks back to that day. “Try April fourteenth, the front lobby.” 

Sollux pulls up the quadrant of recordings from the building security cameras, and starts scrolling through the time stamps. Suddenly it blacks out.

“What the… huh. That’s weird.” 

“What happened?”

“It looks like the footage got deleted.” 

Wait, what the fuck? Karkat leans forward to watch as Sollux scrolls back through the timestamps before it suddenly blacks out. Then he keeps going until the next day’s footage reappears on April 15th. 

Was Strider really that careful? There’s no way that asshole had gone through to clean out any and all CCTV footage there ever was of him around Karkat. 

But if he _did_ though… Damn did that do something strange to Karkat. He just… he hated it. He hated how damn good Strider had been at manipulating him, always staying a step ahead.

The thief just knew how to press all his goddamn buttons, and for that Karkat wanted to find him.

Karkat wanted to find him so _badly_. 

The feeling hits him so strongly it almost throws his balance off. 

“You got another day?” Sollux says, shaking Karkat out of the intense daze. 

“Uh, right. Try… April 3rd, maybe?”

Sollux flips to that date and starts to scroll through the available footage again, until it blacks out the same way. 

_No fucking way._

They keep going for a few more dates, each other blacking out around the same time Karkat ever met with Dave, as if the man’s presence in the building caused some kind of recording black hole.

“Dude, I can’t do this all day long,” Sollux says after a little while. 

Karkat grits his teeth. If Strider had managed to remove all that footage, then it only left one more place he could remember. 

That retrospectively very strange _date_ they went on. 

“Gianni’s,” he says. “The night of the eleventh.”

“The place off Van Buren?”

“Yes.” 

It takes a long while. Karkat leans back against the wall, already considering if he’ll have to go out there and visit them in person to look at their dining room security footage. “Huh… yeah, looks like I got in. Thank fuck for these cloud storage systems, right?” Sollux laughs.

Karkat clenches his fists suddenly, not even really listening. Sollux is going to see them together, unless Strider deleted this footage too.

But if he didn’t, then he left it on purpose, because that meant he wanted Karkat to see it again. 

Karkat doesn’t realize that his breathing is picking up as Sollux scrolls through those dining room cameras. 

“Stop.” He says suddenly. Sollux stops scrolling. 

He points a shaking finger at the screen, to a single table in the corner, his breathing completely stopped. “There. That’s him.” 

Sollus squints at the screen. “Karkat, is that you?” 

Karkat’s stomach twists. “Doesn’t matter. Just get the footage and start tracking.”

“Were you…”

“Sollux, I’m going to suggest you be really fucking careful about whatever next comes out of your idiotic mouth hole.”

“... I was just gonna say as an FBI agent don’t think this is maybe a little bit weird?” 

Karkat presses his lips together into a fine line. “I know. Trust me, I know. That’s why this can’t get out yet.” 

“Why not?”

“Listen… he tricked me, okay? I don’t want to talk about it. But now I have this. You can’t tell anyone. Please.” 

Sollux is paused, his mouth pressed into a fine line. He’s obviously considering something, but for once in his life he thankfully decides not to say anything about it. “I’ll never understand some of you, but fine. I want details on that date and then we’ll be square.” 

“No problem,” Karkat mutters, already making his way back around the desk, his mind clouded.

Strider had wanted Karkat to search for him. He was taunting him still, from wherever he was. 

It didn’t matter, he’d shown his hand and now Karkat was going to find him.

He was going to find Dave Strider, no matter what it took.


	16. Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pressure - RL Grime](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0VzEsvH_yg)
> 
>  
> 
> i'll be honest, this fic would not be possible without trap music

Somewhere in the desert between cacti and red rock formations, a man swerves between sparse cars on his bike as he speeds his way west, sunglasses deflecting sun and wind. 

 

 

 

-

“I found a new witness,” Jake says, approximately two weeks later. “A dealer downtown says he gets his snow from a local DJ. The DJ was apparently bragging his stuff is Columbian.” 

Karkat listens. “And there’s only one person who…”

“Yep.”

“Damn. Pretty stupid of him to advertise. I mean, do you think he even knows anyone?”

“Not sure. Doesn’t hurt to look, though. Find out who his connect is.”

“Hey careful now. We’re trying not to put anymore lives on the line. When are you going?” 

Jake thinks for a moment. “Was planning to go over to his usual club this Friday, see if he had anything to say firsthand.” 

“Need any backup?”

“No, I think just I should go. Too many people and it will look a bit suspicious.”

“Right.” Karkat doesn’t sound all that convinced. 

“I mean, everyone’s been a bit too spooked to even namedrop recently.”

“They have.” 

“Alright, sorry, I’ll get back to work.”

“Wait, Jake.”

“Hm?”

“Wear something casual. You stick out like a sore thumb at these things.” 

Jake snorts.

“Jake, seriously. Do you even like, own a hoodie.” 

Jake is silent for a long moment.

“Jake.”

“Okay, okay fine! I’ll wear something casual don’t get your panties in a twist.” 

-

“Oh my god, no one is going to take your weed pen. That’s not what they’re looking for. Do you have any idea how much sex work and cocaine goes through these places?” A heavily tattooed girl says to her companion in line. 

The friend shushes her. “Dude, stop it! You never who’s around.”

The friend rolls her eyes again. “Oh, please. Everyone knows this town is run by the cartels and Hell’s Angels.” 

Jake snorts behind them in line and the two glance back at him before looking forward again to continue their conversation in hushed tones. 

He’s wearing a leather jacket over a thin hoodie sweater, and this is about as casual as he can get. He could have dressed up, but he knows he carries himself too professionally in a suit to really blend in with the rambunctious partiers. 

This club quarter of the city is ‘popping’ for a Friday. People travel from club to club in droves. Music blares and lights flash from the open air one across the street.

Some poor woman is already throwing up in the gutter. 

Jake sighs and palms once at the badge in his pocket, slightly nervous as to how this entry is about to go down. 

Apparently the house DJ is his connection, and unless he manages to slip under the radar both he and his contact are screwed. 

When he steps to security they pat him down. Predictably, they don’t find anything of note. Jake knows what he’s doing. It’s not his first rodeo hiding arms on his person, especially with such lax personnel. They look at his ID and eye him suspiciously. 

“Friends are inside,” Jake lies, an explanation for his lone presence. 

The security personnel nods and waves him through the door after handing back his ID. Jake steps through the hallway and is greeted to a smokey room with bright lights. He exhales and looks around the room, trying to figure out where the room would be where the DJ hangs out before going on for the evening. It looks like it’s up behind the stage

_Damn._

This might be a bit more difficult that he thought it would be. 

He goes over to the bar and grabs a whisky, leaving cash on the bar before turning and standing behind one of the club tables circling the dance floor. People are busy ogling a man on the other side tossing wads of one dollar bills in the air. 

He scans the room, watching for the eyes of the club security to see if he can ever catch them not looking in his direction. 

He waits, patiently. The dance floor crowd grows slightly over the course of those minutes. Jake is thankful for the increased clamor that would only serve to give him cover. 

The lighting changes, turning to rapidly flashing lights. Jake takes the moment to jump over the back of the table adjacent to the stage and slip behind the wall there to the backstage area, right beyond the flashing neon background of the DJ stage. 

He waits there for a moment behind the wall and blaring speakers to see if anyone is coming to apprehend him or if he’s been noticed at all. Thirty seconds pass, no one comes up. He sighs with relief and continues on down the hallway, pulling his small handgun from its hiding spot.

Finding the DJ back room is not difficult. It’s propped open slightly. Jake sighs and shoulders it open, using his other hand to pull out his badge.

“Jake English, FBI. Everyone get out.”

The girl next to the DJ gasps and hauls herself off the couch, pushing out of the door past Jake. The other girl in the middle of doing a line of coke with a twenty down a mirror drops the rolled bill quickly and follows her out. 

“Bro,” says the couch-locked DJ in a coked out drawl. “This is sooo not cash money of you.” 

Jake shoves the door closed and locks it. 

“Who’s your source,” he says. 

“Duuude,” the guy says with a vocal fry that instantly grates on Jake’s nerves. “What are you taaalking about.” Christ, how much molly has this guy done in his life?

“Listen up. I work for the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions Mr., uh, Steinway?” Jake imagines the DJ is not used to hearing his name in such a manner.

At the second statement of ‘FBI’, the man sobers up somewhat. “Wait, what? You’re from the FBI? Oh, fuck.” He glances at the window nervously, his eyes twitching around the room. His eyes settle on the mirror before him with the neat white lines, one of them half finished with Jake’s interruption. 

“I’m sorry,” Jake continues, “But lives are on the line here. I need--”

The man looks up at Jake, his jaw slackening. “You can’t arrest me,” he says in a rush. 

“I can’t control that. But what I can--” 

The DJ shakes his head more vigorously. “No. Fuck. Okay, fuck, I’m sorry about the drugs. But please, you can’t turn me it. You need to go. If anyone finds out about this they’ll--” He stops to cover his face with both hands. “Fuck man they’ll kill me. If they know I talked to you they’ll kill me. I don’t wanna die, man. Please. I don’t wanna die.”

Jake pauses and squints down at him. “You are not going to die, okay? No one is going to hurt you. I just need the name of your connect with the--”

“Don’t say it!” The man snaps, throwing a hand out. Jake watches as the man continues working his way into a drug-fueled panic. He has no clue how to stop this. “No man I mean like, they’ll find me. They’ll kill me if they find out I talked to anyone. Oh fuck oh fuck, like talking to you. Shit.”

“Who. Who’s going to kill you,” Jake urges, a bit more softly, glancing towards the closed door once himself. He considers kneeling down to begin calming the clearly panicked DJ. 

“They got people, man. They got people like you don’t even know. And they’re always fuckin watching you,” he says, voice squeaking. The DJ squeezes his reddened eyes tightly shut and rubs at them. “Fuck man I’m gonna die,” he wheezes into his hands before pausing. “Wait. You gotta take me with you. If I come with you, you can protect me, right?”

Jake frowns. “If you tell me the name of your contact in the Caliborn gang, I can help you.” It’s a lie, of course. 

He watches the DJ, who is staring up at Jake pleadingly. He flinches when Jake mentions the name of his employer and rocks in his seat, almost childlike in his anxiety. 

“I. I. I don’t know, okay? I. Um. I picked up this stuff when I was traveling. I don’t ask questions, I’m just the DJ, dude.”

Jake pushes forward. “Someone heard you bragging that your powder from the source.”

Jake swears the DJ whimpers. “It’s not true, okay? Please I promise I don’t know anything.” Whatever combination of drugs he was on, Jake has certainly sent him on a bad trip. But even considering that, the man is clearly distraught. He skipped right over being scared about being arrested and straight to being terrified of being killed. Just how tight of a leash can Caliborn have on his distributors when they appear to be so spread out and unreliable? 

Does he have a network of assassins under his reign? Or just one, so efficient they can’t keep up? How does he know when someone spills information, is the room bugged? Jake swallows nervously at the thought, knowing he’d very clearly introduced himself at the beginning of this encounter. Though he had been working on tracking the LCG for awhile now, if there was ever a time for him to have a target on his back the moment would have long passed.

If it wasn’t Caliborn at all, who then? The man had already established himself as a kingpin in the drug trade. His threat was the fact that he was the only cocaine distributor out there now. No one had tried to run against him considering how ruthless and willing to take lives he was to keep his domain. 

“Who are you so scared of?” Jake asks in a placating tone. 

“His… his…” The man doesn’t form words, he only blinks blankly at the wall, still shaking with fear. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His _what_?

He can hear a commotion in the hallway and curses under his breath. Probably security coming for him. Jake grinds his teeth. So close but so far. He considers his options. If he takes the man in for questioning, it’s a confirmed death sentence. He might even be killed en route. 

“I’ll be back another time,” he says to the DJ, who appears to be falling into a shocked stupor. 

He can keep an eye on him from afar. For now, it’s the safer option for everyone. 

-

While Jake concerns himself with another Lord Caliborn witness that probably won’t pan out, Karkat busies himself with other things. 

A lot of thinking, mostly 

He thinks about Dave Strider. He rests his head on his knuckles and leans forward on elbows over his desk. 

What’s he doing, right now, in this very moment? Is he thinking of Karkat, too? Is he planning his next heist in the city?

What if he isn’t in the city anymore? What if he did leave?

Karkat hates the thought that he might have left without a sign. He hates that he doesn’t know Strider’s next move. He could show up anywhere. He could be made someone else’s problem. 

Karkat doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed over it. 

He tells himself he’s just too emotionally attached to this case. Wait. No. Professionally invested. He’s spent a lot of time working towards this goal, of course he’d be disappointed to see his hard work thrown away. 

He reminds himself that he and Jake are as of now the main agents assigned to that case in particular, and that doesn’t look like it’s changing for now. If Strider showed up elsewhere, Karkat would be allowed to track him. 

He’s sure of it. He’d make sure of it. 

Karkat snaps himself out of it. He’s not getting anywhere. 

He turns to his computer and pulls up a search window, beginning a news and database scan for any recent thefts. Such has begun to be his daily routine.

Nothing so far comes up matching the Strider description… Per usual. 

He scrolls down, almost deflating when his search comes up dry before pausing and scrolling back up.

His eyes zero in on a number. 

“.... 69,420.69$ stolen…”

He clicks the link and it populates on his screen. He leans forward, eyes eagerly scanning for information. 

No leftover footage. Possible sighting of black-suited man. All of this occurring in an affluent west coast beach city. 

It has to be Strider. He did this specifically as a message to Karkat. A _come follow me_ , a beckoning finger across the country. He had to have done it, who else could it be? 

Karkat tries not to feel too elated. 

_He wants me to go after him._

But what was he doing in California? 

 

His boss glances over the article, and then over her glasses at him. 

“You honestly think one of them was responsible for this,” she says doubtfully. 

“I’ve worked on enough of their thefts to know their patterns. He goes for immature shit like this. They, I mean. They do immature shit like this. The two of them. Because there’s two of them.”

His boss is still frowning at him, but then glances back down at the article and sighs. 

“If I send you out there, I can’t spare our anyone else in our department. You’ll be sent to work with whoever out there is managing the case in… San Diego, was it? You can’t take case jurisdiction until you prove it’s a Strider.” 

Karkat swallows thickly. Is this good or bad? He’ll be asked to work with another department? On second thought, this is going to be fucking terrible. 

“I understand,” he says anyways. Karkat doesn’t know if it really Strider behind that theft, calling the agent out to find him, but god he hopes so. It just made too much sense. Not that it couldn’t have been some other thief’s immature move, but Karkat had to find out for himself. If there was any possibility of this lead putting him closer to finding Strider, he’d follow it no matter what. It was better than sitting around here like he had been for a few weeks anyways. 

After the meeting he goes to visit Sollux once more. 

“Anything come up?” 

“Nope,” Sollux says, not even looking up from his screen per usual. “I said I’d tell you if anything showed.”

“Yeah well I think my guy popped up.”

“Oh yeah huh? Where?”

“In San Diego.”

Sollux pauses. “I’m tellin’ you, man. His face hasn’t been picked up.”

“Bullshit. No one is that careful. Especially not on the West Cost.” 

“Well I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Are you sure that algorithm can actually do shit?”

“Fuck off. I could stop doing this favor for you, you know. Wouldn’t be hard. One less thing for me to worry about.”

Karkat huffs. “No, fine. Keep it running, goddamn.” 

He doesn’t know how to feel about it, though. How could Dave Strider have traveled across the country and not been seen in some public space? Was the sample he gave Sollux not good enough? It’s definitely less evidence that this theft he found out about was actually Strider. He leaves the room, stomach twisting. 

He has a business trip to pack for.


	17. Interlude: TROUBLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out in the slumber  
> Slow, goin' under  
> I've been waitin' for you  
> Wonderin' what I would do, when -  
> Oh, where did you go?  
> It seems impossible, but I consume your trouble  
>  
> 
> [Trouble - Feed Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p8VVjSWaKWc)

Dave is glad to have sixty-nine thousand dollars and _change_ lining his pockets for the short trip. It might come in handy in a bind, especially considering the old friend he’s about to visit. 

He already has a few fun little gigs to spend his time here on, little heists in the big houses belonging to the Southern California rich. 

And if he maybe makes his presence known to a few people working for the government, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It’s not like Dave is actively hoping anyone is going to follow him. 

It’s not like he’s planning on it. 

Not like he _cares_. 

He’s only trying to have some fun. 

Dave pulls up to the driveway, all lined by a fancy stone fountain. 

The person at the door hesitantly answers. 

“I’m a client,” Dave says. “An old client.”

He’s allowed into the building and makes his way to the office he knows by memory. 

Dave raps on the wooden doors before entering. The person sitting at the desk looks up at him. 

“Hey TZ, long time no see.” 

“I thought we agreed to stop making such tried jokes awhile ago! Dave Strider, it’s been too long. Let me see you,” Terezi Pyrope says, standing out of her chair with the help of her cane. 

What she could have possibly been doing blind behind her desk, Dave never knows, but he learned long ago to not ask. 

She walks around to give him a hug. He takes the embrace with a grin, wrapping his arms around her. When she pulls back she stills one hand on his forearm. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you get in trouble?”

Dave laughs breathily. “You know me, doll. I never get in trouble.”

She points at him. “That’s the voice of someone in deep shit.” 

Dave swallows thickly, watching as Terezi sits back on the edge of her desk, just barely leaning on it. She’s waiting for him to spill. 

“I need the Patiala back,” he finally says, in a practical burst. 

Terezi barks a laugh. “The _necklace_ , that you stole for me? To pay for your friend’s case? Sorry, boy, no can do.”

The Patiala is a long-time publically missing piece of jewelry, almost priceless with the caliber of its gemstones. It had been passed around underground for years now. 

“TZ,” Dave says, trailing the ‘Z’ with an affectionate tone and pouting. He steps toward her where she perches on the desk. “I’m your favorite client, aren’t I?” He steps forward closer, so that her legs are almost on either side of his body.

“I say that to everyone that pays me,” she says with that same grin. 

Dave snorts. “Terezi, what are you even doing with it? Isn’t it just sitting around here? C’mon, tell me how I can pay you back. I know you know I don’t wanna steal it from you, babe.” 

Calling anyone else that word suddenly feels _wrong_. It’s never felt wrong before. 

“Maybe. Why do you need it so urgently, hm? You got a debt? A gift for someone special?”

Dave laughs lowly but Terezi zeros in on something about it immediately. 

“It _is_ for someone special,” she observes cheerily. “Who is it?!”

Dave sighs. He steps forward even closer, his hands hovering over Terezi’s thighs. He’s willing to use more persuasive measures if needed.

Worst case scenario, he really can just steal it back from her, but he wants to go the nice way about it, especially for an… old flame like her. 

“Now TZ, I know we once held a candle for each other but come on, don’t be so jealous.”

Terezi laughs, not moving at all. “Now, Dave,” she says, echoing his same admonishing tone. “You know I would so generously help you out with your little quest, but that’s the thing. I can’t.”

“You can’t,” Dave repeats blankly. 

“Yes. I don’t have it anymore.”

“ _What._ ” 

“Yes, yes I know you went through all the trouble of stealing it back from whoever it was in Belgium to give to me but yeah, I don’t have it anymore!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Terezi pats his cheek. “You’re a little hard to sniff out nowadays. Plus I have my hands full with--” 

Almost on cue a woman shoves into the door, yelling unnecessarily. “Terezi I found those stupid bonds you were talking about--” she pauses as she looks up and sees Dave standing way too close to Terezi. “Who’s this fucker? Do I need to kick him out?”

“Vriska, this is an old friend and client. Dave, this is my girlfriend.”

_Oh_. Dave takes a big step back. That’s a big pile of yikes he does not want to involve himself with it any way shape or form. Terezi is unreliable as is unless she has money dangling in front of her, and he already can tell her girlfriend has a hundred styles of crazy written all over her. 

Hell, she looks like she’s murdered a few people before. 

Dave frowns. “Did you want me to steal it last time to give to her?”

Terezi shrugs. “Maybe. Seems you got the same idea, hm?” 

“I don’t.” _But you do._

“Mmmhmmmm,” she says doubtfully, but gets up off her desk. 

“So who has it now, then?” Dave asks. 

Terezi snorts. “Oh, someone you don’t want to mess with.”

“The list of people I’m not willing to mess with is pretty small.”

“Oh, this one should be on your list.”

Dave waits. Terezi’s girlfriend is standing off to the side and crossing her arms, clearly unimpressed with the unfolding scene. 

“You know, just Caliborn. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, he’s the leader of that gang everyone keeps talking about?”

Oh.

Fuck. 

 

Dave leaves Terezi’s home and stands by his bike for a few long moments, debating his next move. 

He has to steal that necklace back. 

He doesn’t care who he has to steal it from or what lengths he’ll have to take to get it back.

All he cares about is seeing the reaction on a certain FBI agent’s face when Dave presents it to him. 

His phone pings with an update- apparently Vantas just booked a flight out to California. 

Dave smirks. Yeah, this is fine. He can afford to kill a little time here, soak in the sun and have a little nighttime fun. Knowing Karkat Vantas is around the corner makes it all the more exciting. 

He needs time to plan, anyways. 

-

Island life is nice. 

The Dutch territory island of Bonaire is quiet. The background noise is always just palms swaying in the wind and water lapping on the shore. Even the quaint, sleepy central city is easygoing in the daytime. 

Dirk keeps to himself, mostly. Oftentimes he walks barefoot on the sand, toeing into the bathwater warm sea, hoping that the receding tide can also take his fucking emotions with it.

Between his recent relegation to online-only jobs and his chosen alone life, Dirk still can’t stop thinking about it.

About _Jake_. 

He shouldn’t. He should hate him. He should never want to see him or look at him again. 

But Dirk can’t stop thinking about how it all went wrong. 

He can’t think about Jake and make all the puzzle pieces of that human being fit together. Maybe he hadn’t known Jake well enough to put those parts together. Maybe that side of him was always there, lurking just underneath.

But then why did Dirk find that comforting? 

What would anyone think, if the gentlest person they’d ever met also did most violating thing they’d ever experienced? 

What did it mean then, that Dirk couldn’t stop thinking about it?

When Dirk thinks about Jake’s iron grip on his jaw and the way Jake forced his head down on him, it’s not necessarily with trauma. 

Dirk knows he’s fucked up. His entire existence is illegality, and he liked it that way. Of course he’d always be attracted to the other fucked up people he came across, too. 

He had started off keeping tabs on Jake. At first he’d been able to convince himself it was to make sure Jake didn’t figure out where he was, and then when it was clear Jake didn’t know he had to make a choice. So he stopped. 

He’s safe out here in the Caribbean. Jake can’t touch him, for better or worse. 

_For better or worse._

Dirk can’t stop thinking about him. 

He can’t stop thinking about why Jake let him go. He can’t stop thinking about how as the weeks grow between last seeing him, Dirk only grows hungrier for his touch again. He can’t stop thinking that despite the beautiful coastal setting around him, none of it can pick away at how embarrassingly and completely heartbroken he is. 

Not that Dirk would consider it that, though deep down he knows it is. He knows he let himself fall too far, too hard. He knows that the shattered feeling in his chest is something more than just missing someone, more than being angry about what Jake did to him. He considers living on the island, away from Jake, as being like rehab. Dirk knows he has no choice but to push through until he’s rid of every last thought about him. He’ll stay here for as long as it takes. 

He fears it might be impossible. Sometimes he wakes up, still thinking Jake is going to be at his side with a cup of coffee and that damned adoring expression.

Like always, his stormy thoughts are at odds with his relaxed beachside setting. Everything is so bright here. The water is clear as glass and the sand pristine white, almost glowing under the sun. Everything is so beautiful. Dirk barely pays attention to it. 

As had become habit, Dirk walks along the beach until he gets to the weird clown-themed corner store in his usual Hawaiian shirt and khaki combo and buys the traditional Dutch cookies with the horse print on them. 

The cashier is usually his only human interaction Dirk gets for the week. It’s nice. No one minds him, stranger he is to the island. 

It’s fine like this.

Dirk is fine. 

He especially does not miss special agent Jake English and _everything_ that man made him feel.


	18. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [WAITING.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CxFvuDyjPpk)

Jake gets the memo that Karkat is going off to California alone and sighs to himself.

Typical. 

-

“Ian Barnes,” the man introduces himself to Karkat, gripping his hand a little too hard in the handshake. Karkat can tell the local detective isn’t too jazzed about having Karkat’s FBI authority over his blossoming case. “Follow me, we’ll get you debriefed upstairs.” He nods towards the elevator. 

Karkat follows him up. The man clearly doesn’t want him here. Karkat already knows he has no friends in this office. He’s an annoying higher up, sent to rain on someone’s investigative parade. They don’t actually believe it to be a Strider case. He’ll just have to prove it. 

 

“At about twenty two hundred hours two days ago, we caught this on tape outside of a bank in north country.”

Karkat watches as gritty video footage starts on an overhead screen. 

“That was it. The cameras were all turned beforehand, and the issue wasn’t detected until later.”

Karkat nods at the repeating short clip of video. “Can you grab a still?”

“Yes, but it won’t be a good one.”

Karkat leans forward on his seat as they pull up a screenshot of the black figure on a motorbike. It is really blurry, but Karkat swears the man is wearing a full on mask and not a hood. He sighs but doesn‘t voice his thoughts. It’s not the right time.

“Do you guys have a list of suspects?”

Another window appears on the screen. “We realize you aren’t familiar with the area-“ Karkat tries to not roll his eyes at the subtle poking at his nonrelationship with the city. “But these are a few of our usuals. Though none of them have pulled anything of this caliber.”

“What, a sixty-nine thousand loss is too big or too small?” Karkat quips as they tap through the profiles. 

“These guys are all fucking clowns,” Karkat tells Barnes across the table when they’re done with a glaze-over. “The perp was too well prepared to be any of these guys.” Why does that… give him a swell of _pride_. He clears his throat. “I’m telling you, your guy is from out of town.”

“You don’t get to come up in here and tell us who did what crime,” Barnes snaps.

_Aw, look. It’s insecure._

Karkat doesn’t comment it and sighs. “Listen, I’m sure you have your hands full with property damage insurance and what not but I have a job to do. I’m pretty sure about who did this and it’s under my rule to say which way we go. For now, it’s my way. If it gets proven not, we can do your way. Good? Good.” He plants a hand on the table and stands up. 

He’s not usually so pushy. This isn’t how he leads investigations. But right now, he has a feeling in his gut and he can’t ignore it. 

“Get some coffee. The Striders make most of their hits on weekends and in places you won’t expect. We have to be ready to go at a moments notice. Do you have a list of high value objects people own in the area? That’s probably going to be the biggest target.”

Soon enough, Karkat has the office in motion exactly how he wants it. 

-

The quiet of his chosen hotel room is a sweet reprieve. Karkat plops on the bed and hunches forward, staring at the garish carpet. 

Where is Dave Strider?

Is he actually here in the city? Where is he staying? Is he in another hotel room, just like this one? 

Where has he been eating? Who has he been talking to? 

Does he sleep in clothes, only boxers, nothing? 

He needs to stop. Karkat doesn’t even know why he came out all this way anyways. How likely is it that he’ll catch Strider with his resources at hand?

What does he really intend to happen? 

_Have sex again?_

Goddammit. Memory hits him like a kick on the stomach and he doubles forward, rubbing at his eyes as he remembers again all the obscene behavior he’s let Strider get away with. It’s been so much worse recently, now that he has a face he can assign to that body he once felt under him, or going down on him. 

When Karkat slips into bed later that night he doesn’t wonder what his strong body would feel like against his under those starchy white sheets, bare legs tangling together. 

That following morning definitely starts off with a cold shower. 

Karkat is back at it the next day, familiarizing himself with the local airwaves and currents of information. 

The week drags on, uneventful and frustrating. Finally, they get the news of a daylight break-in and Karkat doesn’t even blink.

“What do you mean you don’t want to come?”

Karkat doesn’t look up from the papers. “Not Strider’s MO.”

“Why not?” Barnes questions, and Karkat is already growing weary of his generally blatant antagonism. 

He sighs. “Strider doesn’t operate in daylight, and he would never, _ever_ , do anything so barbaric as tossing a brick through a window.” Karkat spits the words like he’s personally insulted the detective thinks Strider would stoop so low. 

In a way… he kind of is. 

Barnes opens his mouth to snap back but seems to decide against it. “Fine. We’ll be back.”

Karkat doesn’t gloat when it later turns up as vandalism and nothing else. 

Karkat spends too much time in their offices. They don’t believe him, but he knows there’s going to be a hit one night when they aren’t expecting it. He continues to have Sollux send them current black market reports, or information about underground auctions, anything that could be a sign of Strider’s next target. 

_Goddamnit, Dave. Where are you?_

He’s just about to throw in the towel on a late night when he gets the call. He’s ready. Expecting it, even. That pit in his stomach, the insistent _knowledge_ that Strider is there, in that town, that he has to be, hits him harder than ever.

The owner of the private gallery reports the theft, and Karkat can’t keep the smug ‘I knew it’ expression off his face. He can tell it’s pissing off this entire department but he can’t help it. They are obviously far too late to the scene of the crime the next day, but everything fits the Strider bill. No marks, clean entry, almost no digital trace. In and out in a flash.

As always, Karkat begrudgingly admires the work, but he would never admit it aloud. Anyways, he has to be better. He has to get this department to the same wavelength he used to be on, back when they could track the Striders to the scene of the crime, sometimes even beating them there. 

He needs to see Strider himself. Needs to see him when Karkat makes it known that he’s _here_ , and that Karkat wants him.

So that he can arrest him, of course. 

 

“We _almost_ had him. If we had cornered off that block earlier, like I’d said to do, we wouldn’t be in this situation with you guys shoving your foot up your own ass!”

Barnes sighs. The rest of the team makes some off hand grumbles. 

“Is this a fucking joke to you guys? You all need to wake the fuck up!” What Karkat would give to have his team back, with Jake. Although maybe without Jake’s influence Karkat could admit he was maybe being more intense that usual. “If we put in a few more hours—“

“Listen man, we get it, you really want to find this guy. But this is… a bit much.”

“A bit much?” Karkat growls.

“It’s all you talk about. You’re demanding way more of us than we can handle. You’re like… obsessed with finding him.” 

Karkat goes still. Frozen. The room quiets immediately.

“I am _not_ ,” he bangs a fist on the table, causing everyone to jump, “Obsessed with him,” he says, every word pressed through gritted teeth. 

Karkat doesn’t even register the motion until his first is stinging on the table surface. He looks down at it slowly, realizing what he just did. Withdrawing his fist, he straightens up. 

“I need to go,” Karkat says, and leaves the room. 

 

Karkat finds himself pacing in the downstairs outdoor atrium, raking hands through his hair. 

His phone sits quiet in his pocket, ever so silent ever since he last saw Strider. He wishes he had the distraction. Or does he wish he still had the connection?

No, he doesn’t. _He doesn’t._

Karkat just wants to catch the stupid thief. He doesn’t need to feel bad about maybe obsessing over him. When he turns him in everyone will be singing a different tune. They’ll think his actions were warranted, even. 

 

He gets close to catching him again. 

They barely get to the scene of the crime on time. It’s just long enough for Karkat to send people out to look around the house for the thief’s getaway options, leaving himself and Barnes to start going through the house. 

It’s like a balloon inflating in Karkat’s chest when he sees him. 

“Strider,” he snarls viciously before taking off towards him. 

Strider stands still, appearing obnoxiously unaffected by Karkat’s presence. Barnes is on his tail, and Karkat instantly regrets it. He watches as Strider registers the detective’s presence and then turns away.

_No._ Strider had been about to say something, and he’d decided against it when he saw Karkat wasn’t alone. What was he doing, not capitalizing on humiliating the agent like he always seemed to like to? 

How dare he just not say anything, after disappearing and making Karkat chase him all the way across the country?

Strider gets away. Karkat leaves the building gnashing his teeth and fighting back pointed words aimed right at Barnes.

 

When Strider reportedly hits three different houses in one night Karkat knows he’s being taunted. It just gets worse. The assigned team listens to him even less, frustrated with his erratic behavior following that last close encounter with the thief. 

Karkat settles in one night and starts researching the area instead. What is it that Strider could possibly target next? Finding the information is near impossible, like always. Karkat makes a list, putting personal collections at the highest priority and museums at the lowest. 

“I don’t think he’d go after that painting. He’s much more likely to target the — collection,” Barnes counters when Karkat shows him the data the next day.

Karkat shakes his head. “He’s more likely to take the crown jewel. We know he’s working alone out here,” or at least he’s pretty sure he is, “And it doesn’t make sense that he would go for an entire collection without backup.” 

Barnes disagrees. 

So Karkat starts waiting for it that weekend. He watches the house Friday and falls asleep. 

Saturday it rains. 

Karkat is half inclined to stay inside for this one, but it eats at him. He goes to the street with the potential home target and waits, struggling to watch through the rain on his windshield.

He hears the bike before he sees it, a gentle hum heard across the street. 

_No way_.

Karkat starts the car and and pulls away from the curb, violently turning around and following the sound. His heart squeezes painfully. Was it someone else, just a fluke? He flashes his high beams and… he’s just there on the bike, illuminated under the streetlight and looking back at Karkat.

Karkat stares at him, watching water drip down the slick black suit.

Strider gives him the smallest salute and presses the gas, taking off into the night. 

The moment is so reminiscent of a night he remembers from not long ago. He slams the gas and races after Strider through the maze of suburban streets, struggling to make the right calls through his radio as he accelerates to catch up. His heart pounds in his chest, hands shaking so much he can now barely grip the steering wheel. He distantly knows that Strider is baiting him, might have even intended for this to happen, but he doesn’t care. 

He manages to get through dispatch that he is chasing a subject heading towards the closest freeway, and all Karkat can do is hope that someone, anyone, comes as backup. 

Karkat forgot that overpasses were monsters in this city. He follows Strider up one, slowly gaining but not quite fast enough, on one that goes so high almost the entire city is visible, even in the rainy dark. He passes a car on the shoulder who honks at him. He doesn’t bother minding them, the people here drive too slow in the rain anyways. 

_Where is he even going_ , Karkat wonders as he keeps on his tail, never getting quite close enough.

When Strider finally peels back on to surface streets again Karkat almost loses him and he gets frantic, pushing the speed limit far beyond any measure of safety on such small streets. He manages not to, but he does realize that Strider is taking him towards the coast. What could possibly be waiting here? 

Karkat thinks he can distantly register sirens and sighs internally with relief. 

Finally Strider abandons his bike at the end of a road at white posts, which Karkat realizes are the vehicle blockades for this particular boardwalk. Strider led him to the beach. He leaps out of his car, just barely making out Strider sprinting to the end in the distance.

Rain splashes down heavily from above as Karkat races up the deck behind him, black suit barely visible in the night. 

Blue and red lights flash in the distance along the coast behind them.

He’s going to lose him. He’s going to lose Strider again. 

_I can’t. I need him._

“Strider!” He hollers out into the rain, arms pumping to keep the sprint. It’s so loud between pounding rain on the worn wood and the growing ocean under them, black and swelling violently. 

Strider jumps up onto the wooden railing at the very end and and balances himself. 

Karkat stumbles to a few feet from the edge. “Freeze!” He yells, grabbing for his gun and lifting it at the dark figure. 

Strider turns to look at him and puts his hands in the air, but his posture appears anything but serious about it. 

The standoff is over in an instant. 

“I… I… I found you, goddammit. Finally,” Karkat wheezes, dropping his armed limb to his side, wondering why he took it out anyways. His lungs are burning. The words seem to give Strider pause, and so he keeps talking. “Don’t go, please. Whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re going... Don’t. Come with me. Please,” Karkat begs. He doesn’t even really know what he’s asking for. Chasing Strider had wrung him out and all he knows is that he wanted him so badly. High on the adrenaline, Karkat doesn’t even know what for. 

Karkat should be mad at him. He should be furious. There’s so many things he should do and feel right now, especially with how Strider left last time. But every reasonable thought Karkat should have fades away into euphoria at being so close to the thief. 

Strider looks over in the distance and Karkat glances over his shoulder to see the blue flashing lights coming to a stop at the end of the pier as they locate Karkat’s vehicle, the men presumably exiting their cars and coming for him. Unless they don’t think Strider actually intends to jump into the swelling water… Karkat realizes then how serious Strider might actually be about doing that. 

He looks back up at Strider, and stills when the suited man jumps off the railing and takes a few strides towards Karkat, taking off his mask.

“... Dave,” Karkat gasps as he reveals his face, like the air has been punched out of him. 

The thief smiles brilliantly at him. “I’m sorry, babe. I can’t go with you. You know that.”

“You… You won’t survive that jump,” Karkat says, mind grabbing at something, anything to say. 

Dave laughs softly. “You worried about me?” He’s suddenly standing in front of Karkat. 

Strider is right there, he should arrest him, but Karkat’s mind is frying at the sight of his real face, still haunting him after all this time. Karkat only feels crushing fear and desperation. His hands close into fists at his side. 

“I don’t want you to die.” What is he even saying? 

Dave hooks a hand around his chin and pulls Karkat towards his face. They’re both getting soaked. 

“I won’t, don’t worry. Oh, Karkat,” Dave murmurs in a whisper as he closes the distance to his lips, sounding almost as broken. 

He holds his hands firmly around Karkat’s neck and chin, opening his mouth and tilting his head to the side to kiss him deeply, tasting him like he’ll never get to again. 

_Please,_ Karkat thinks in agony. _Please let this not be the last time._

 

Like always, it’s over too fast.

“Dave!” Karkat yells as the thief tears away from him and hurdles back towards the railing. 

“See you soon, babe,” Dave says as he jumps back on to the barrier, pulling the mask back on. Then he looks forward and leaps, diving straight into the water. Karkat chases after with an outstretched arm, but only fast enough to see the splash as he hits the whitewater wave so far down below.

 

There’s no way he survived that. Karkat can hear his heart pounding in his ears as he peers over the edge, blinking away disbelief and saltwater. 

It takes another few minutes before the backup finishes crossing the pier. Karkat hasn’t been able to pull himself together.

“Agent Vantas!” The officer calls to him. 

Karkat whirls around to him. “I want a search and rescue team out here ASAP. There’s no way he survived that jump, and if he didn’t we’re gonna find the goddamn body.” His voice shakes and he can’t help it, but the man takes the confusing order anyways. Karkat stands still for a moment in the rain, trying to even his breathing and calm his heart rate. 

His throat hurts. His chest hurts. Everything hurts.

Karkat prays that he doesn’t find anyone out there come morning. 

 

He doesn’t find a body. He sends them out again, before someone approaches him with meteorology info about how the swells weren’t actually recorded as being that bad and that Strider could have survived the dive. 

When Karkat returns to his hotel room, he lays on his back and tries to let the relief fill him, but he can’t calm down. 

Not until he knows for sure. 

What was that Strider had said before leaping into the water like a suicidal dumbass?

‘See you soon.’

What had that meant? Strider obviously intended to see Karkat again, and he knew that shouldn’t make him feel so light. 

When nothing happens for a week he doesn’t understand why the disappointment feels so crushing. 

After the second week of no further thefts and too much lost sleep, Karkat leaves the oceanside city and doesn’t look back.


End file.
